The Artist in the Agent
by ecv
Summary: Booth is a man of many talents.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I was watching some early episodes including the first Christmas episode when Booth created the bird as his gift for Dr. Goodman. The same afternoon, I caught the episode on tv when he sculpts the horse. Those two episodes led to this.._

 _~This was supposed to be one part - but the initial chapter, led me to write at least one more - that being said, each chapter will be a complete story_

 _~I don't own Bones._

Brennan walked through the door after a long day of work to see her family seated around the table in the kitchen. Tossing keys into their appropriate space and setting her bag next to the door, Brennan smiled to see her family happily engaged in an educational activity.

Booth would probably disagree with Play-Doh being educational, but Brennan knew the substance was great for building fine motor skills and encouraging creativity.

Approaching her family, Brennan studied the various colors and shapes scattered across the surface. Though her glance was casual, it missed nothing and she was drawn to what was sitting in front of her husband.

"That's amazing, Booth!" Brennan exclaimed as she came toward him. Booth was doing his best to keep the Play-Doh on the table, and his children's fingers out of their mouths.

In front of Hank and Christine were the typical creations of children, badly formed snowmen and something that may have been a pig or a cow. There was also a red shape, Brennan guessed was a bowl, with small round balls of multi-colored clay inside.

"Look at my bowl of cereal," Christine exclaimed, verifying her mother's assumption. Christine picked up the bowl, pretending to eat what she'd made.

"Away from your mouth," Booth said distractedly, watching Brennan. He suddenly felt ridiculously shy and fought the urge to hide what was in front of him behind his hands.

What was there was entirely different from that of his children. It was what had drawn her attention to begin with. His creations were clearly the animals they represented, encompassing everything from an elephant to a miniature monkey hanging from a tree.

All created in the garishly bright colors of a children's toy.

Booth shrugged, clearly self-conscious with her initial praise. "They turned out okay," he said, downplaying what he'd done. "There were some other ones, but Hank really likes to flatten them." A loving smile graced his lips as he looked at his youngest son.

Hearing his name, Hank flashed a happy smile at his parents, reaching for another one of Booth's creations.

"How about this one," Brennan redirected him, drawing his attention to a snowman in front of him. Hank let out a delighted giggle and flattened it enthusiastically.

"It's okay if he destroys mine, Bones," Booth said. He almost wished they'd all been destroyed before Brennan walked through the door. "They'll just get ruined when we put all of this away."

"I want to look at them," Brennan said, picking up the elephant. The ears and trunk were expertly rendered and she was amazed at what she was looking at. "Why didn't I know you could do this?" she asked, genuinely curious. Why would he hide such an impressive talent from her?

He hadn't hidden it, not exactly, but he did keep this part of himself very private. A soldier and an officer had to have a certain image, _he_ had a certain image that he wanted to maintain and this had just never seemed to fit.

Taking the sculpture from her, Booth turned in carefully in his hand. Play-Doh wasn't the most stable material to create things with. "You saw the horse I made when we went on that double date with Sweets and his girlfriend at the time. The one who liked tropical fish."

"Brilliant cobalt blue," Brennan said, picking up the monkey and tree to look at. Despite her careful handling, the tree began to lose its shape, bending under the weight of the animal attached to it.

Booth gave her a funny look. "That Play-Doh is green, Bones."

"What? Oh, yes, it is. That was what Sweets' girlfriend said to me after the date. She was a brilliant cobalt blue and Sweets was pale, more like a robin's egg blue."

"Ouch," Booth muttered, thinking fondly of Sweets for a moment. Booth couldn't remember much about Sweets' date that night, just that it hadn't turned out the way he had hoped. Bowling after had been fun, though. "Anyway, you saw the horse I created."

"Yes, I remember it. I also recall a rather interesting fight you started with the clay not long after that. You told me you'd never done it before, and I didn't think about it much after that night." Setting the tree back down, Brennan watched it slowly tip over, her expression amused. Christine took the opportunity to smash it flat with a fist. "Come on, guys," she said, scooping Hank from his chair. "Let's go wash our hands while dad picks this up."

Booth looked at the mess on the table and sighed. He was pretty sure Bones was getting the better deal here. "Don't you want to hear my story?" Booth asked.

Sending her husband a fond look, Brennan ushered the kids toward the bathroom. "Of course, I want to hear it. But later, when we're alone."

Nodding, Booth began to gather up the various colors and put them back into their respective containers. The green elephant was studied with amused eyes, before he carefully placed it on the windowsill, to see if he could get it to dry.

The rest he flattened with a fist, just as happily as his son had only moments before.

Brennan handed Booth a glass of wine before settling next to him on the couch. She sipped it slowly, enjoying the opportunity to relax with her husband.

"So," she said. "Tell me about this hidden talent you have."

"I wouldn't call it hidden," Booth disagreed. "I just don't get much chance to use it in my line of work."

"Have you ever used it?" she asked. Brennan knew there were many things her husband didn't share with outsiders. There were times he kept things hidden from her. Brennan knew he carried secrets, things he'd done for the Army, in his past, that he wasn't comfortable or able to share. But surely this couldn't be one of them.

Booth shrugged. "Once or twice after I enlisted. Not much since then. I was focused on other things. My skills on the gun range, training for the FBI, chasing you," he teased.

She elbowed him good-naturedly. "Did Pops know?"

"Yeah, Pops knew. So did my dad, but he wasn't quite as accepting of it as Pops was. My dad thought skills like that were inappropriate for a guy."

Taking a sip of wine, Booth allowed himself to think back to a time he didn't always want to remember. "I made some sort of ceramic thing for my mother. I was so pleased with it. Brought it home, gave it to her. She acted like it was the greatest gift she'd ever received."

"I'm sure she was proud of you," Brennan reassured him, having a feeling he was downplaying exactly what he'd made.

"Yeah," Booth agreed. Reaching over, he took her hand. "Dad smashed it in a drunken rage a few days later. Said no son of his was going to be an artist."

Squeezing his hand tight, Brennan sighed. "That must have been hard for you."

"I didn't bring another project home again," Booth said quickly, trying to move past the uncomfortable memory. "In fact, I almost failed art in high school because I refused to complete any of the work. I didn't want anyone to know, after what happened with my father," he explained, taking a healthy swallow of wine. "I didn't want to be an artist; he shouldn't have been concerned about that. I was more worried about how to avoid his fists, not on what I should do with my future. I managed to pass the class the last quarter thanks to the teacher."

Brennan understood what it was like to hide a part of yourself to protect the rest of you. "But you said Pops knew. So at some point, you must have given yourself away, even if you were trying to hide it."

"He caught me. In my room one night," Booth said, his eyes growing distant as he thought back. "I think Pops thought I was doing drugs or something. I'd borrowed some clay from school, little bit here, little bit there, not enough so that anyone noticed it was missing."

"Borrowed?" Brennan asked, shooting him an amused glance. "I think that was theft, Booth."

He laughed. "There's no thinking to it, Bones. It was totally theft. I sent that art teacher a ten pound box of clay when I was in the Army. Figured that would make up for it."

Taking her glass from her hand, Booth set it on the table and pulled her against him. "I knew Pops would be angry about the clay and he wasn't happy. Made me take it all back the next day. It was kind of embarrassing to walk into school returning stolen art supplies. Thank goodness I could hide it in my bag. Didn't want to ruin my reputation."

"But you sent the art teacher a box of clay anyway? Why?" Brennan asked. She snuggled in closer to Booth, content to listen to him tell his story. They had so few opportunities for moments like this anymore.

"She took a look at what I brought her and sent me back home with it. Told me to keep it. She was a good woman."

Booth wondered if she was still alive. That woman had saved his future. The letter he'd sent with the clay didn't seem like enough.

"Anyway, when I got home that afternoon with the clay, there was a box waiting for me on the table. Pops had gone out and bought me a whole ton of supplies. Clay, paper, books on drawing and origami. Everything I had ever wanted. Things I didn't know I might want. Told me it was okay to keep what I was doing private, lots of people do things they don't share. But that I shouldn't be embarrassed because I was good at something, and I should never steal to get something I want."

"Pops was a good man," Brennan said. She ran her hand down in his arm gently while he spoke.

"Yeah," Booth agreed, his voice suddenly thick. Clearing it, Booth shook his head. "So that's what I did. When I was really stressed, or needed to think, I had an outlet that didn't involve getting into fights or other trouble. Eventually that outlet was taken over by gambling, but for a time, the art was enough."

"I saw the bird you made for Dr. Goodman, that first Christmas we were locked in together. It was really very good. He still has it in his office."

Her praise shouldn't have meant so much to him, but it did. "I didn't know you were aware of what we gave each other that day."

She nodded slowly. "I watched. I paid attention to how everyone acted. So happy to be giving gifts. No matter what way I analyzed it later, it sure didn't seem like people attempting to exert dominance over each other."

"My creation exerted dominance over everyone," Booth declared.

"I'd like to hear where you learned to make it," Brennan said, ignoring his bragging.

"I learned a little of that from the book Pops gave me. I learned a lot more from a fellow soldier when I was stationed overseas. He tried to teach a whole bunch of us, but I was the only one who really caught on. There isn't always a lot to do, a lot of supplies available, depending on where you're stationed, but you can usually find paper somewhere."

"But you still act embarrassed, are shy about it." Brennan pointed out. "You don't make anything, show it off to anyone. Even me. Other than the horse."

Booth snorted. "That had nothing to do with showing off, not really."

Brennan lifted an eyebrow.

"Okay," he admitted, "maybe a little. But Sweets was always poking and prodding at things that were none of his business. I enjoyed showing him up once in a while."

"We certainly did make life difficult for him at times," Brennan said with a fond laugh. "I find myself missing that sometimes."

"And I'm not embarrassed by it," Booth argued. "It's just private. Something that's mine. I like to have something that's just mine. No pressure to do it well or to do it at all. If I have need of it, it's just there. That's good enough for me."

"Besides," he continued, giving her a hug, "I have you and the kids now. I don't need that outlet like I used to."

Moving away from him, Brennan grabbed the glasses, washing and drying them in the kitchen. While there, her eyes were drawn to the green elephant, patiently trying to dry.

"You saved the elephant, Booth?" she called back to him. "Why the elephant?"

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "I'm hoping he'll dry so I can give him to you."

"To me?" she asked. "Why an elephant?"

"They're supposed to be the smartest animal, right? The smartest animal I know for the smartest woman I know," he explained. Warm lips were pressed to the back of her neck, making her hum in appreciation.

"Elephants have demonstrated complex cooperation skills, much like humans," Brennan said, her voice a little breathless as Booth continued to move his lips around her neck.

"I think," he said before kissing her again. "We can demonstrate some cooperation ourselves if you're interested."

"I'm interested," she said, pulling away to open the refrigerator and grab something inside. Turning, she waved the bottle of chocolate syrup at him. "Is drawing one of your abilities?"

Grabbing the bottle from her, Booth backed her into the fridge for another scorching kiss. "I'm sure I can create something we'll both enjoy."

She smiled, taking his hand to pull him behind her. "I'm counting on it."


	2. Chapter 2

"Mrs. Abernathy?" a teenage Booth greeted as he shuffled into the door of the art classroom. His head was down and he toyed with the strap of his backpack, clearly uncomfortable.

The teacher looked up from her desk and gave her student a warm, if somewhat cautious smile. "Seeley," she greeted, putting her pen down. "What brings you here so early in the morning?"

Because it was early. The other students weren't due to arrive for at least fifteen minutes, making Mrs. Abernathy wonder what was up.

There was also the fact that Seeley wasn't exactly her best student. He'd completed only two projects for her last quarter and was failing the class. Which surprised her. What little work he had turned in showed her that he was a talented, creative artist. The class should have been an easy A for him.

"My grandfather, Pops, made me come," Seeley muttered, still refusing to look up.

Nodding, she waited for him to continue. In her line of work, she was used to students who needed a little extra time to work their way around to something. It was also clear Seeley was nervous about whatever it was he'd come to see her for.

A visit to the guidance counselor had made her aware of some of Seeley's past. Enough to know that his early childhood had not been kind. It never ceased to amaze her, the difficulties children could go through, and still manage to come out on the other side.

But she was pretty sure he was in a good, safe home now. She'd met the boy's grandfather during parent-teacher conferences. Mrs. Abernathy wasn't sure what was keeping Seeley from being successful in her class.

"Pops, your grandfather, made you come?" she asked, genuinely curious. "Is it to talk about your grade in my class? Because with a little effort this last quarter, I can probably find a way for you to pass the class for the year, and still get the credit. You will need that to graduate."

Seeley finally picked his head up and at least looked in her general direction. He still wouldn't meet her eyes. "I know, Mrs. Abernathy. I'll try to do better," he said, but his voice wasn't sincere and she didn't put much faith in the comment. "But that's not why I'm here."

Folding her hands on her desk, she watched him. "Then why are you here, Seeley?"

Sighing, Booth approached her desk and placed his backpack on a corner of it. "Because of this," he said softly. Unzipping the pack, he pulled out a plastic bag and placed it in front of her.

"What is this?" she asked, watching as he took a step back from her desk, backpack in hand. She opened the bag to find quite a bit of clay inside.

"I took it," Booth said bluntly. Pops expected him to be a man and accept the consequences for his actions. The last thing Booth wanted to do was disappoint him. Not when he was the savior Booth spent years praying for. So, taking a deep breath, he met his teacher's eyes. "I took a little bit here and there."

"Oh," Mrs. Abernathy said, closing the bag back up. There was more than just 'a little bit' in the bag. Seeley had never been a behavior problem in her room. Despite the lack of completed work, he was always polite and respectful to her. It was hard to believe he was a thief. "And your grandfather caught you with it?"

Booth nodded. "Last night. Told me what I did was stealing and that I had to return it to you." Shrugging his bag over his shoulder, Booth shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I understand if I have to go see the principal or something," he said as he backed away from her.

"Seeley, wait," she said, putting her hand on top of the bag. She slapped it there once or twice, considering what she was about to do. There was something else going on here, of that she was certain. She was also certain Seeley would never tell her about it.

But she had a hunch. Mrs. Abernathy knew what she was about to do was risky, but no risk meant no reward. "What did you take the clay for?"

In typical teenage fashion, he scuffed his sneakers on the tile and refused to answer.

"Seeley," she said again, her voice a little more serious now. "I really would like you to tell me why you took the clay. What were you doing with it?"

Looking behind him, Booth hoped another teacher would come to the door. But when no one appeared to rescue him, he sighed and met her eyes again. "I was sculpting with it," he whispered.

Mrs. Abernathy could surmise what had happened. In a home that was safe, Seeley had felt just comfortable enough to explore his talent. But not comfortable enough to tell his grandfather. So he'd taken the clay, rather than ask someone to purchase it for him.

She felt sorry for the boy in front of her. Forced to be a man too early, Mrs. Abernathy had been concerned about Seeley for some time. Without the art credit, he wouldn't graduate. But there was a light in the boy's eyes he couldn't quite hide each time he walked into her room. She was hesitant to do anything that might extinguish it.

Charity also wasn't something he was going to accept, so she also knew she needed to tread lightly here.

"Here's what we're going to do, Seeley," she said. Getting to her feet, she grabbed the bag from her desk and brought it back to him. "You can keep the clay and I won't report the theft to the principal."

Booth's eyes widened in surprise. Of all the ways he'd imagined this conversation going the night before, this had never occurred to him. "You won't?" he asked, cautiously reaching out to take the clay back from her.

"Under two conditions," she said when his hand closed around the bag. Effectively trapped, Booth waited to hear what the conditions were.

"You will pass my class this quarter and earn the credit. That means you will complete every project I assign to the best of your ability. I won't put your items in the showcase or display them if that would make you more comfortable. If you don't want to work in front of your classmates, you can come in before school and during your free periods. But you have completed a few projects, so I know what you are capable of. Anything less than your best for the remainder of the year will result in a failing grade. That is my first condition. That you do the work and pass the class. I'd hate to see you not graduate because of an art credit."

He looked into her eyes to see if she was serious and finally nodded. "I want to enlist," Booth said suddenly. "After college. I need to graduate so I can go to college and then join the Army."

It was more than he'd ever revealed during the previous months of the school year. "Then you do your part and I'll make sure you get the credit you need."

There was a long pause before he nodded his agreement. "And the second condition?"

Releasing the bag she stepped back from him and crossed her arms over her chest. "You will stay after school, on a night that is convenient for both of us, for one hour each week, to help me clean this art room."

Booth looked around the room and widened his eyes slightly. "The whole room?"

Biting her lip not to laugh, she nodded seriously. "Yes, the whole room. We're in the last quarter of school, so that gives you about eight hours to get this place cleaned up. That should more than cover the cost of the clay."

And she wouldn't have to spend the first weeks of summer vacation finding people to move things that were too heavy for her to handle.

"We can work around my schedule?" he asked suspiciously.

Again, she nodded. "Yes, and mine. I do have a life outside of this room, you know," she teased. Giving her a weak smile, Booth hesitated.

Figuring one more little push was all he needed, she dangled another carrot in front of him. "Plus, I'll give you first dibs on any supplies I'm getting rid of. There's always colored pencils and other things that aren't quite good enough for class that still have some life left in them."

Watching the hunger appear in his eyes, Mrs. Abernathy knew she had him. "Should I expect you to start this week?"

She watched his hand tighten around the bag, before he nodded. "I'll be here."

"I will, of course, call your grandfather today and clear this with him. Otherwise, I'll expect to see you later today to set up a schedule."

Behind them, other students began to appear in the hall and she knew there would be no further conversation with him, at least for that moment. "Go," she said, motioning him out of the room. "Find your friends. I'll see you in class."

Booth turned quickly and headed for the door. At the last minute he turned suddenly. "Thank you," he said sincerely.

Smiling, she watched him disappear into the hall before returning to her desk. Teaching was hard profession, a person could hope they were making a difference, but were never quite sure. Students came in and out of her life so quickly and it was rare she learned where someone ended up.

Still, right at that moment, Mrs. Abernathy was sure she'd made a difference with that one. He'd never be an artist and that was fine. She'd made sure he got his chance to enlist and make something of himself.

And maybe, someday, she'd be lucky enough to find out where life had taken him.

Several years later…

Arriving into her classroom early one morning, Mrs. Abernathy was surprised to see a large box waiting for her on her desk. Requisitions for the school year arrived in August and it was almost spring, so there was no chance it was something she'd ordered.

There were lines around her eyes now and she'd given up on covering the grey in her hair several years ago. Not that there was a lot, but she noticed it in the mirror each morning. Still, there was a spring in her step and a clear love for her job on her face.

She had enough experience under her belt to know unexpected packages weren't always a good thing. Usually, it meant she spent at least half her free period trying to figure out who or where it belonged.

Tossing her purse under the desk, she noted the label on the box was handwritten. That same experience, and her love of crime shows, had her hesitating. Who knew what could be in the box? Dead cat or perhaps an entire box full of confetti she'd spend hours cleaning up.

Her anxiety dissipated slightly when she noted there was a return address in the corner. A military address, based on what was written there. Now, curiosity took the place of the worry.

Digging around on her desk for a pair of scissors, you'd think that sort of thing would be easier to find in an art room, Mrs. Abernathy slit the tape on the package, pulling the flaps back slowly. Inside was a white envelope, on top of a second brown box.

The scissors were set to the side as she relaxed into her chair. On the outside of the envelope was her name written in clear script. A gentleman's handwriting, she'd bet. She tapped it against the desk a few times before breaking the seal and pulling out a single white sheet of paper.

 _Dear Mrs. Abernathy -_

 _I'm not sure you'll remember me, but I'm Seeley Booth and many years ago, I was a student in your art class._

 _I stole clay from your room and tried to return it to you. You made a bargain with me. I could keep the clay if I worked off my debt and passed your class._

 _It seemed pretty harsh to me at the time, but looking back on it now, I realize how lucky I was. You could have sent me to the office, had me charged with theft, but you chose to do neither. Because of you, I got a chance to enlist. I'm a Ranger now and I've seen more of the world than I ever dreamed of._

 _I know that teaching is a tough job, kind of like herding cats, I'd imagine. And I'm sure supplies aren't easy to come by. You took a chance on me, giving me the clay. A supply I'm sure you needed._

 _So, I'd like to repay you with a little gift. It might not be worth much, but I checked, and I know you're still an art teacher. If someone else needs it, now you'll have a little extra to spare._

 _Thank you for taking the time to figure out what I needed. I wouldn't be where I am without you._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Seeley Booth_

Mrs. Abernathy read the letter through a second time and then a third, hoping no one else came in her room. A tissue appeared in her hand, and she dabbed at her eyes, before placing the letter to the side.

She'd prided herself on always doing the best she could for her students; taking chances where others might have walked away. Sometimes it worked out, sometimes it didn't, but she never regretted trying.

But this was the first time any of them had taken the time to thank her for it.

Knowing she had a limited amount of time before students began to arrive, she pulled the smaller brown box out, tossing the larger one to the side. The cardboard would be useful for a project she was doing later in the month.

A second cut with the scissors and the box popped open. She wondered how many colleagues heard the laugh as she looked at the ten pounds of clay inside the box.

 _A/N:_

 _Bad News: This chapter is over..._

 _Good News: I'm writing more chapters..._


	3. Chapter 3

Booth walked through the door of his house, tossing his keys in the dish set aside for them. If he was lucky, neither of his children would decide to play with them and they would still be there tomorrow.

"There's a box for you on the table," Brennan said, looking up from the scholarly journal she was perusing. "It came special delivery this afternoon."

"I didn't order anything," Booth said. His voice was suspicious as he approached the box. "You should have left in on the porch. Or out by the street."

"I'm sure it's not going to explode if you open it, Booth. It has a return address label on it. If you don't know who it's from, we can take it to the Lab and x-ray it, if that will make you feel better."

Turning back to her magazine, Brennan tried to focus, only to be interrupted by an exclamation from Booth.

Startled, she dropped what she was reading to come toward him. "Is it a bomb?" she asked.

He looked at her, amused. "If you really thought that, you should be running the other direction. And no, it's not a bomb. At least it shouldn't be."

Brennan stopped next to him and put a hand on his arm. "Then what startled you?"

"I looked at the return address label. It wasn't what I expected. I didn't know what to expect, but it wasn't that."

With a concerned expression, she turned to the box and read the label. "That made no sense, Booth."

Rubbing a hand over his face, he was forced to agree with her. "I know, Bones. But, for a second there, I was a teenage kid in high school again."

"High school? But this is a name of a person, not the name of a school," Brennan said. With a gentle push, she turned the box back toward him. "It's marked fragile."

"You're aren't the only one who notices details," he teased. "And the name on that box belongs to my old art teacher."

"The one who gave you the clay?"

Booth nodded. "The same one. You don't think she sent me more clay, do you?"

She actually appeared to be considering it, and Booth bit his cheek to hide the smile. "I'm not good with other people," Brennan said slowly, "but I don't believe that would make sense."

The struggle was too much and he laughed. "I don't think it would make sense, either. But I have no idea why I'd get a box from her. She must be retired by now."

"Well, let's open it and see, Booth. We'll be here all day making conjectures."

He shot her a look. "Is there something wrong with the word guess, Bones?"

Brennan looked offended. "I don't guess."

"Of course, you don't," he said. Digging around in the utility drawer, he found something he could use to cut the tape. On top of a large pile of packing peanuts, hiding whatever was inside, was a note.

"Read it out loud," Brennan encouraged. She walked away to pour both of them a drink, deciding that Booth may need one before he was done.

"Okay. Dear Seeley Booth, it starts out. You may not remember me, but I was your high school art teacher, Mrs. Abernathy. You once stole clay from my art room and tried to return it to me." Booth snorted and gratefully took the drink from Brennan. "I think I started my note out to her almost the exact same way."

"You made an impression," Brennan said, pulling up a chair and resting her elbows on the counter. "Keep going."

"I'm going, Bones, I'm going. Where was I? I have recently decided to retire, she continues, and have to clean out my room. I think it may be the first time it's been this clean since you worked for me the last weeks of the school year."

"You worked for her?" Brennan interrupted.

Booth used the break to take a drink. "She made me to pay off my debt. She read me well enough to know I wouldn't take charity."

"So maybe that talent to read people isn't totally natural. You may have picked up some of it from her."

Considering, Booth finally nodded. "Perhaps," he said vaguely.

"I know that's your way of agreeing without actually agreeing, Booth. But that's a discussion for another day. Continue."

His eyes returned to the letter. "She's going to retire. Okay, here we are. You didn't know it at the time, but I saved the last projects you completed for me that year. I hoped that someday, you would be able to appreciate your talent and would be more accepting of the items you created. I knew that I was taking a chance, I may never be able to find you again to send them to you, but I decided it was no bigger than the risk I took on you the day you returned the clay."

Booth took a deep breath and looked at the box before he looked at Brennan. "She saved them?" he asked softly, wonder in his voice. "She actually saved them?"

"That's what she said, Booth. Is that the end of the letter?"

Still slightly shocked at what he was reading, Booth shook his head. "No, there's more. Uh…I saved the letter you sent me. First in my desk, and then in my purse. It reminded me why I did this job to begin with." Booth blinked hard and swallowed before he continued. "You and your wife have solved some important cases over the years, which made it easier for me to find you. It may not mean much, but I want you to know that I'm proud of you."

He looked up at Brennan as he set the letter to the side. "Sincerely, Mrs. Abernathy."

"It is unfortunate future students won't have her as a teacher. She sounds like one of the good ones," Brennan said. She reached over and took the letter to read a second time.

"Yeah," Booth said, rubbing at his eyes and cheeks. "She was one of the good ones. Still is by the sounds of it."

Their eyes met and simultaneously they looked down at the box full of packing peanuts. "Do you remember what you made?" Brennan asked.

"I remember," Booth said, his voice suddenly hard. Finishing the drink Brennan had brought him, he went to the sink and rinsed out his glass before grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Behind it was the chocolate syrup and he was momentary distracted by the memory of that evening.

"You okay, Booth?"

"Fine. There should be three things in the box," he said, returning to her side. "An octopus made out of clay. That was the sculpture project. We had to create something with stained glass, mine was a sunburst, and the third was a mask made of paper mache."

Resting his hand on top of the packaging, Booth hesitated before reaching inside. "I told her to throw it all away, the last day I left. The quarter was over, I'd paid back my debt, I was done. I told her I didn't want any of it and to throw it all away."

"You were with Pops then, Booth. Why didn't you take it home?" she asked gently.

"It was the memories I was escaping from. I knew I'd done a good job. But each time I tried to take something home, all I could see was my father picking up that first gift and smashing it against a wall. I knew Pops would never do that, but I couldn't…" he shook his head, frustrated with himself and a past he could never quite escape.

Standing, Brennan stepped around her husband and wrapped her arms securely around his waist. "You don't have to actually take them out of the box," she offered. "We can tape it back up and put it away until you're ready."

Turning, Booth pulled her to his chest and rested his chin on the top of her head. "I'm okay, Bones. I just get angry sometimes when the good stuff gets tangled up with the bad."

She held him, listening to his heart rate slow and feeling the tension slowly leave his body. Rubbing her hands up and down, she offered comfort without words.

After a moment, he pressed a kiss to her head and pulled back. "Go ahead, Bones. Take them out of the box."

Studying him, Brennan tried to read his face. "Are you sure, Booth?"

"Yes," he said, planting a second, more reassuring kiss, on her lips. "I'm sure. Go ahead."

Reaching gentle fingers down into the box, Brennan felt a round object. Carefully, she pulled upward, freeing a pink octopus from the depths.

A laugh escaped her lips as she studied it. Well-formed, seven tentacles lay flat, providing the support to hold up the body, while the eighth waved playfully at the observer. The color was a little brighter than Brennan thought appropriate, but considering it was created by a man who was only in high school at the time, it was very impressive.

"You even put in the finer details," she said, running a finger along the underside of the tentacles.

"I had to," Booth said. "She told me if I didn't do my absolute best, there was no way I was passing the class. The color was a little too pink," Booth observed, echoing Brennan's earlier thoughts, "but the supplies were limited. It was the end of the school year, after all."

A gasp behind them had them both turning.

"Mommy," Christine said, approaching her slowly. "What is that in your hands?"

"You don't know what animal this is, Christine?"

The comment earned Brennan a look Booth recognized. Their daughter had inherited it from Brennan. "It's an octopus, mommy. Where did it come from?"

Brennan looked at Booth. It was his choice to explain it, if he chose to. "I made it," he admitted to his daughter. With his eyes on Christine, he missed the look of pride move across Brennan's face. "A long time ago, when I was in school."

As Brennan set it carefully on the counter, Booth lifted Christine into the chair so she could see it better. "Does it have a name?" the little girl asked.

"A name? No, I never named it. I was waiting for the right person to come along and do the job."

Christine's eyes widened. "Me, Daddy? Were you waiting for me?"

He ruffled her hair affectionately. "You are smart. Just like your mom. I _was_ waiting for you."

"He looks like Ollie, from the book you read me, Daddy. Can I call him Ollie? Can he sleep in my room, in my bed?"

Booth laughed. "I think maybe he should sleep out here for a while, until Hank gets a little older. You don't want him to get broken. We'll put him someplace where you can see him."

A little disappointed, Christine sighed. "I don't want Hank to break him. I just wish he could sleep with me." Noticing the box, her face brightened. "Is there anything else in there?"

"Yeah, baby, there's more." This time, Booth reached into the box. The glass project was in his hand when he pulled it back out again. "This one is made out of glass."

"Did you not know what color the sun was, Daddy? The sun is not blue. I have a book. We should read it tonight before bed."

Brennan smiled at her daughter. "I think Daddy was trying to be creative when he completed the project." Despite what their daughter thought, Brennan was intrigued by Booth's use of color.

"Oh. Can this one be in my room?"

"Sure," Booth agreed. "We can probably hang it in your window. The colors will look really pretty when the sun shines through it."

"Is blue your favorite color, Daddy?"

"Just like your mom's eyes," he said with a smile.

"Booth," she chided, "you didn't know me then."

He met her eyes and Brennan stilled at the serious expression there. "I've known you forever, Bones. The look of you, the feel of you, who I wanted to fall asleep next to at night. I just didn't know your name then."

She opened her mouth to disagree, but he looked away and went back to the box. "The last thing in here should be a mask," he said. Hands pulled packing peanuts out wildly, making Christine laugh as they flew everywhere.

"You're cleaning that up," she decided, still a little flustered from his previous statement.

The last item appeared and Christine loudly expressed her pleasure. The mask was painted to look like a zebra, the stripes and lines beautifully rendered.

"We can hang this one on your wall, if you'd like," he offered.

Her eyes widened in pleasure. "Over my bed?"

"If that's where you want it. Come on, we'll go find a spot now."

Hopping from the chair, Christine raced toward her bedroom.

"Wait until Hank is up before you start pounding," Brennan said, grabbing her husband to kiss him gently as he walked past.

"What was that for?" he asked curiously.

"I'm proud of you for showing your daughter what you created. They'll mean the world to her. Sometimes even though there is bad mixed in, the good shines through."

He nodded, briefly pressing his forehead to hers before following his daughter toward her bedroom.

Brennan watched him go, then looked around, discovering she'd let him escape before cleaning up his mess. As she went to retrieve the broom, Brennan realized that had probably been part of his plan.


	4. Chapter 4

Hank stared at the closed door, tapping his hand against his leg nervously. It was the third night this week his grandson had shut himself in that room and Hank was worried.

It could be drugs. Hank knew that was always a concern. Seeley didn't seem like the type to do drugs, but that was what everyone thought about their child.

Because Seeley was his son, as far as Hank was concerned. Edwin, Hank's son and Seeley's father, hadn't been right for a long time. The final straw had been the day Hank walked in to see Edwin beating Seeley. He'd taken both boys that day, Seeley and his brother Jared, to raise as his own. No child ever deserved what he saw his son delivering with his fists.

Hank thought Seeley had adjusted well considering what he'd been through. His grades were okay in school, except for an art class, and he was excelling in sports. But now he was shutting himself in his room and keeping secrets. Maybe Seeley hadn't adjusted as well as Hank had hoped.

Knowing he needed to do something, Hank rose from his favorite chair and headed toward the door. He considered knocking, but didn't want to give Seeley time to hide anything, so he turned the knob and simply walked in.

"Hey, Shrimp, what are you doing in here?"

The look of naked panic in Seeley's eyes as he whirled around to look at him had Hank slowing to a halt just inside the door. Hank had never seen that look in his grandson's eyes and it startled him. Exactly what had he been doing behind that closed door?

"Pops, I…" the younger Booth stuttered, pushing back from the desk and standing so fast the chair tipped over behind him with a bang. While his grandfather was distracted by the falling chair, Seeley moved to stand in front of the desk in an attempt to hide what he'd been working on.

Looking back, Hank noted Seeley's hands were dirty, before his grandson tucked them behind him.

With a sigh, Hank sat on Seeley's bed, trying and failing to determine what was going on. His grandson was doing everything possible not to look at him, and he wasn't going to move away from that desk unless he was forced. Something Hank would never do, considering Seeley's background.

"I wasn't doing anything, Pops," Seeley claimed, not meeting his eyes. A sure sign he was lying.

"We both know that isn't true, Shrimp. I've raised you better than to lie to me."

He knew he was caught, but it was still hard for Seeley to give up. Finally, he rubbed his hand over his face and took one step to the side.

It wasn't drugs behind his grandson, or alcohol or any of the other things Hank had worried about. What was behind him was the sculpture of a dinosaur.

"Is that a triceratops?" Hank asked.

Seeley nodded, clearly embarrassed. "Yes."

Rising slowly to his feet, Hank came toward the desk. Bending, he brought his eyes level with it to get a better look. It was a little rough, but it had the form of the creature it was designed to represent. "Where did you learn how to do this?"

Looking up in time to see Seeley shrug, Hank was surprised at the answer. "No one taught me. It's just something I can do."

Hank blurted out the first thought that came into his head. "Then why are you failing art?"

Snorting, Seeley let loose a harsh laugh. "I can do the art, Pops. I don't want to."

Hank straightened himself and stared at his grandson. "Not wanting to do something is no excuse. The teacher is in charge of that class and I expect you to follow directions." His voice was firm, expectations clear.

Crossing his arms over his chest, the young man refused to meet Hank's eyes. "I'm not doing it. I…I'm just not, okay."

It wasn't okay, but Hank would let that slide for a moment. Another thought had occurred to him.

"Where did the clay come from, Seeley?"

The mood in the room changed, but to what, Hank wasn't sure. If anything, it was more uncomfortable than it had been only moments before. Which gave Hank a bad feeling about exactly where that clay had come from.

"So you're failing art and stealing from the teacher?" Hank asked. "Why would you do that, Seeley?" More disappointed than he cared to admit to, Hank sat back down on Seeley's bed. "I thought you knew better than that. Hell, I've taught you better than that."

Righting the chair, Seeley also sat down. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his legs and let his hands fall between them. The position gave him a perfect view of the floor and made it harder to him to see his grandfather's eyes.

He'd do just about anything to not see the look of disappointment Seeley was sure he'd just put there.

But Hank wouldn't let him off that easy. "You want to steal like a man, you'll look at me like a man, Seeley."

His grandson sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. Knowing exactly what his grandfather expected, Seeley met his eyes.

"Where did the clay come from, Seeley? Did you steal it?" Hank asked him.

"Yes, sir," he said quietly. "A little bit here and there so it wouldn't be so easily missed."

"And what you're doing is a natural talent? No one has taught it to you?" Hank wasn't sure where he would have inherited such a talent from. No one in the family, at least in recent memory, could do such a thing.

Of course, his many times great-grandfather had been an actor before he'd decided to assassinate the president. Maybe it came from him. But that wouldn't make Seeley feel better. Hank would just keep that theory to himself.

"No one taught me, Pops. I've picked up tricks and skills from art classes in school, but I just have a feel for it. I can't explain it."

Hank didn't expect him to. Most people born knowing how to do something couldn't tell you why or how they could do it. Just that they could.

"Does the fact that you're hiding this from me have something to do with your father?" Hank asked quietly.

Seeley's eyes darkened in anger, but he held his temper in check. His grandfather had a right to ask the question, even if the mere mention of the man who gave birth to him had his blood pressure going through the roof.

Looking away and back again, Seeley finally gave an abrupt nod.

Sighing, Hank got to his feet again to look at the dinosaur to give his grandson a moment a get his feelings under control. Hank knew any mention of Edwin was difficult for Seeley. It was difficult for Hank, too, but for different reasons.

Hank had prided himself on being a good father. At least, he'd always believed he was. Until the day he'd walked into that house to see Seeley cowering under his father's fists.

Now, Hank spent many sleepless nights wondering what he'd done wrong. It probably wasn't his fault; Edwin had struggled since returning from Vietnam. That didn't stop Hank from feeling like it was though.

Laying a gentle hand on Seeley's shoulder, Hank stayed behind him. Sometimes it was easier to say things when you weren't face to face.

"You didn't have to hide this from me, Shrimp. You are safe here and I am not your father. I would..., I will, support your interests, no matter what they are. As long as they are legal. I'm hoping you also don't have a secret talent that involves stealing cars."

Feeling the tension in the shoulder relax slightly in response to his poor attempt at a joke, Hank gave it a squeeze before coming back around in front of the chair. "But we need to talk about the clay."

"I know I'm safe here, Pops," Seeley said. "I just couldn't…I can't," he shook his head, not comfortable or capable of expressing exactly what he was feeling.

Hank nodded to indicate he understood. "It's okay to keep something private, Shrimp. To have something you can turn to when you need to escape or relieve stress or to work through something that's troubling you. It's good to have a healthy outlet like that."

Tapping his foot nervously, Seeley remained silent. He knew his grandfather wasn't done.

"But you can't steal to get what you want, Seeley. That means that what you're keeping private isn't good for you anymore. You're always looking over your shoulder, wondering if you're going to get caught. Now, instead of working through a problem, your habit is causing one."

Turning back toward the desk, there was a look of regret on Seeley's face. "I have to return the clay, don't I?"

"Yes, Shrimp, you do. All of it. Including what that cute little dinosaur is made of. And I expect you to talk to the teacher about passing the class."

The thought of walking into school tomorrow with a bag full of stolen clay made Seeley just a little sick to his stomach. Despite the fact he was failing the class, he kind of liked the art teacher. It was just that art was tangled up with the nightmare that had been his father and he still struggled to separate one from the other.

He knew he was safe in the house. Seeley hadn't been lying when he made that statement. He also knew his grandfather would discover what he was doing eventually, but that didn't keep him up at night.

Sometimes, what woke him were the nightmares involving his father finding out he was still sculpting and showing up to teach him a lesson. He wasn't a little boy anymore and could easily defend himself, but the mere thought of something like that happening was enough to keep Seeley from completing most of the required projects for the class.

He was quiet for so long, Hank figured he wasn't going to say anything. Finally a small grin appeared on Seeley's face. "It's not cute."

"Edwin's not coming back, Shrimp," Hank reassured him quietly. "You really are safe here."

Wild eyes met Hank's. How had his grandfather known exactly what he'd been thinking? "You can't promise me that."

Hank rubbed his palm on his knee. "No, probably not," he acknowledged. "But you can't let him ruin your life. What you're doing, what you can do, it's something pretty special. The man took a lot away from you. I'd hate to think you'd let him have that, too."

The younger Booth nodded. "I'll go get a bag for the clay." He stood and started toward the door before pausing. "I'm sorry I disappointed you, Pops."

Hank also stood, moving toward the desk to take one last look at the dinosaur before Seeley was forced to destroy it. "We all make mistakes. You'll fix yours tomorrow. I'd be more disappointed if you refused to do the right thing."

Nodding, Seeley disappeared around the corner. Running a finger along the head of the dinosaur, Hank hoped what he said made a difference.

The next afternoon…

"Pops," Seeley yelled as he came through the door. His backpack was slung into the corner and plastic bag remaining in his hand. "Pops, are you here?"

"In the kitchen," Hank called, amused to discover he was nervous about how Seeley would react when he walked in. "What are you so excited about?"

Hank had already spoken to the art teacher and had a pretty good idea what was going on, but it was better if Seeley told the story himself.

"Mrs Abernathy gave me…" he started, before trailing off as he walked into the kitchen. "She gave me the clay," Seeley finished slowly as he took in what was on the table. "What is all of this?"

"I went to the store today and picked up some things I thought you might like."

Walking slowly around the table, Seeley ran his finger over boxes of colored pencils, clay and books about art and origami. In his other hand, he still carried the bag of clay. There was more there than he could take in with just a quick glance. "Why?"

"You have a talent and you like to do it, Shrimp. You should have what you need without resorting to stealing."

His grandson met his eyes. "This must have cost you a fortune."

"Don't you worry about that," Hank said gruffly. "Did you make arrangements with the teacher to pass the class?"

"Yes, sir," Seeley replied. Placing the clay off to the side, he picked up the book on origami and flipped through several of the pages. Under the book was a package of paper he could use.

With no warning, Seeley suddenly dropped the book and enveloped his grandfather in a tight hug.

Knowing how his grandson shied away from physical touch, the hug meant more to Hank than he ever could have put into words. "You're welcome, Shrimp," Hank said, returning the gesture.

Blinking back tears, Hank pulled away. "Why don't you go put that stuff in your room and I'll start dinner."

Nodding, Seeley began to pick up the supplies before stopping and flipping through the origami book a second time. "Hey, Pops? Would you like to try and fold some paper with me after dinner?"

"Yeah, Shrimp, I'd like that a lot."


	5. Chapter 5

"We need to talk, Booth," Brennan said as he came into the bedroom. She was siting on the corner of the bed, looking directly at him, a solemn expression on her face. Booth could see the tension in her body, and he'd barely made it into the room.

He hadn't seen her since they'd kissed good-bye that morning. He hadn't noticed anything suspicious then. A long day stuck in his office writing reports had followed. Booth hadn't even had time to go to the diner for lunch with Bones. The last thing he was in the mood for was a serious discussion.

"Can this wait?" he asked, pulling off his tie. "It's been a long day."

Brennan shook her head. "I don't think that's a very good idea. We really need to talk."

He paused his undressing to look at her. There were nerves under the stare and Booth's anxiety went up a notch. She was concerned about whatever it was she wanted to tell him. "Okay, Bones," he said slowly. "What's up?"

"I did something today you might not be happy with," she admitted with a sigh. "But it seemed like a good idea at the time."

She probably wasn't about to announce she'd taken a job in Arizona or was going on a dig for six-months to Maluku again. Not that Booth really expected her to do those things, but he was at a loss to explain what she was upset about.

There hadn't been a new case in a few days. Bones had told him she was going to spend the day with several of her interns working on identifying some of the remains in Bone Storage. Nothing should have happened to cause this level of concern.

And Booth was entirely too tired to really try figuring it out.

It wasn't unusual for Bones to make decisions without consulting him, often not understanding the implications of what she was doing. But she'd changed over their years together and she rarely did anything now without at least mentioning it to him first.

"You didn't shoot someone did you?" he asked, crossing the room to sit next to her and take her hand. His tie was gone as were his shoes, and Booth desperately wanted to take a shower followed by some time in front of the television, but none of that would happen until Bones confessed what was bothering her. "Because even if that seemed like a good idea, I probably wouldn't be happy," he joked.

When she didn't even smile, Booth gave up on trying to lighten the mood. "Tell me what you did, Bones."

"I looked up your old art teacher at the school you used to go to. It wasn't hard, considering the reaches of the Internet. I called the school she works at."

Booth couldn't understand why she thought that would upset him. "The letter she sent said she was retiring. I'm sure Mrs. Abernathy wasn't there anymore. What's with the nerves?"

"That's the thing," Brennan said, squeezing his hand. "She hasn't exactly retired. Not yet. There's still a few more weeks in the school year."

"Did you talk to her?" Booth asked, not sure how he felt about that. Sure, she'd been a great teacher, Booth probably owed her more than a letter and a box of clay, but that was a part of his life he wasn't sure he cared to revisit.

Brennan shook her head. "I didn't talk to her."

Booth saw through the comment. "But you talked to someone else?"

"When I mentioned my name to the secretary, she immediately put me through to the principal. Being a famous author does have its advantages at times." Normally she was full of pride when she made comments like that, but now her voice was unsure.

Booth couldn't disagree with that statement. Getting tables at restaurants and tickets to sold out concerts was definitely a lot easier when you were married to someone on the best-seller's list. "Don't tell me it was the same principal," Booth said cautiously. He'd spent a few moments in that office for things he wasn't proud of and avoided it several other times when he wasn't caught. If seeing Mrs. Abernathy made him uncomfortable, he couldn't imagine talking to the man who'd handed out the discipline he'd received.

"No, but when he asked why I was calling, I couldn't lie, so I told him the truth. Or a modified version of the truth," Brennan attempted to clarify.

No, Bones would lie, even if he wanted her to. Standing, Booth stepped away and paced toward the window. He pulled the curtain back and stared at the green grass and swings his children liked to play on. It soothed him, knowing they were having a better childhood than he had. "How much of the truth did you tell him, Bones?" he finally asked.

Did she mention he almost failed art because the memories of his father haunted him? Or that he was so private about what talent he did have, she didn't realize what he could do until several weeks ago, despite the fact they'd know each other for more than ten years?

Also rising, Brennan watched the tension tighten his shoulders and felt guilty. She was tempted to cross the room and run her hand along them, to apologize for whatever pain she had inadvertently caused.

But at the same time, she was also a little angry with him and what he appeared to be implying. Brennan hoped she was reading him wrong, but was confident she wasn't. "Give me a little credit, Booth. I didn't dump all your secrets."

"Spill," he said, turning back toward her. He tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. "You didn't spill all of my secrets."

She didn't even attempt to return it. He wasn't the only one who was annoyed. Brennan had been worried he'd be angry with what she'd agreed to, but hadn't expected Booth not to trust she would protect him. "I didn't spill any of your secrets," she tried to reassure him, but he didn't appear to be listening.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Booth wondered how an afternoon with his children had turned into something so much bigger. "So if you didn't spill any of my secrets, what exactly did the two of you talk about?"

"Well, first we talked about my books. I promised to send several autographed copies for their next fundraiser. I also agreed to present at their next career day, but only if I was there to speak about women in science and not about my books."

Crossing his arms, Booth leaned against the wall next to the window. There was only the space of the room between him and Bones, but it suddenly felt much larger, which was ridiculous. He hated being angry with her. But, Booth knew there was more coming. She wouldn't be nervous about a couple of books and career day.

Why would Bones ever think it was a good idea to call his old high school? That part of his life was over. He preferred to leave the past in the past.

"You're angry with me," she said, reading him easily.

Booth sighed, but couldn't deny her assessment. "I don't like to talk about my past, Bones. And I don't like the thought of you talking about my past with other people."

Brennan blinked several times, mentally counting to ten. It made her angrier, knowing she was right about what he was feeling. She made it to twenty before deciding she was calm enough to speak again. "Do you think," she began, her voice taking on the clipped tone that signified her level of annoyance, "that I would talk about uncomfortable and very private things from your past with a perfect stranger?"

Bringing his eyes to hers, Booth saw the disappointment there. But not in herself. In him. He'd disappointed Bones by not trusting her to look out for him. Shit. That wasn't what he wanted to happen.

Knowing he'd hurt her feelings, Booth took a step toward her, but she held up her hand to stop him. "Let's just get all of this out in the open before you decide how angry you are with me."

"Bones," he pleaded, wondering how it had gone from him being angry with her to the other way around.

She ignored him. "I informed the principal that a former student had ascertained Mrs. Abernathy was retiring from the teaching profession and questioned whether it would be possible for that student to send a retirement gift. That seemed like an appropriate gesture."

It wasn't a good sign for him that she was using big words and really long sentences to explain herself. Not sure whether it was time for him to speak yet, Booth simply nodded his head.

And he should have known better than to jump to conclusions like he did. Bones would never reveal anything that would hurt him. She went out of her way to protect him, even when he didn't need her to.

"The principal then took the opportunity to inform me that there was a retirement luncheon for Mrs. Abernathy in two weeks. He wondered whether the student I was acquainted with would be interested in attending the luncheon. I agreed that you would attend. I would, of course, be attending with you. That is the part I was concerned about. I wasn't sure you would want to go, but you said she was one of the good ones, so based on that evidence, it seemed like it was okay to agree."

"Listen, Bones-" Booth tried again, but she interrupted.

"At no point, did I mention your past, your history with the teacher, or your given name. I suppose if the principal does some basic investigating, he could determine who you are, but I didn't get the impression he would take the time to do so. If I made a mistake in agreeing to our attendance, I will call the principal back and give our regrets."

"Can I talk now?" Booth asked after Brennan went silent.

"You are talking now," she pointed out. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she was clearly unhappy with him.

Wow, Booth thought, she's really angry. Big words and literal interpretation of what I'm saying. "I didn't mean to imply you spent the afternoon talking about my father and my childhood, Bones. I know you would never do that." Except, for that brief moment, the thought had occurred to him. And he felt guilty for it.

She nodded without speaking. But she didn't back away as he approached her a second time. And when he pulled her into a hug, she didn't fight him. "I shouldn't have agreed to attending without checking with you first," she conceded. The anger drained away as quickly as it had come. Booth had always been defensive and secretive about parts of his past. Brennan wasn't totally shocked by his reaction.

"I'm sorry I hurt your feelings," he apologized. "Can we talk about this now?"

Nodding, Brennan pulled back. "We can talk. It's just a luncheon, Booth. The principal said Mrs. Abernathy never married and there weren't any personal guests coming. He didn't ask what your connection to her was, but he assumed that if you cared enough to look her up, she'd probably remember you."

Laughing, Booth kissed her on the forehead. "I'm not worried I've been forgotten, Bones. The woman just sent me a box full of old art projects. But maybe we could go before the luncheon starts, just in case she gets emotional."

And it might be a little less awkward than just sitting down with her and hoping she recognized him.

Tilting her head to the side, she couldn't keep the surprised look off her face. "You are agreeing to this?" Considering his reaction when she'd first started talking, Brennan had already been preparing her phone call to the principal in the morning.

"Pops would want me to go," he said softly. "And since you already said we were coming, it would be wrong to back out now. And Sweets would have told me it was a good thing, to focus on the good parts and not the bad."

Her eyes were still concerned. "You don't have to do that, Booth. I am aware that I made a mistake in not talking to you first. The only person who is aware we are coming is the principal."

Booth snorted. "That might have been true for the first five minutes after you hung up the phone, Bones. But I guarantee you that before lunch, the only person who wasn't aware there was going to be a special guest was Mrs. Abernathy."

"I don't understand, Booth."

"As soon as you hung up the phone, he went out and talked to the secretary who immediately told whoever was in the office at the time. That teacher told the one person he or she trusts and so on and so forth."

Nodding, Brennan sighed. "Kind of like when I tell Angela something and soon Jack knows and so does Cam?"

"Exactly, Bones. Trust me, almost everyone in that school knows. And while they might care that someone is coming for Mrs. Abernathy, they'll be more excited a famous author is going to eat lunch with them. You have no idea what you've done."

"Oh," she said, her face turning grumpy. "The day isn't supposed to be about me."

"It won't be, not much. You might have to sign a few books, though. Then it will be all about her. Just trust me on this one."

Kissing the grumpy look off her face, he backed away to finish undressing so he could finally get his shower. Maybe the day wouldn't turn out to be so bad. Perhaps he could talk Bones into staying overnight at a fancy hotel with room service. A night for just the two of them.

She watched him, the look in her eyes changing as he continued to undress. Finally, he stopped and sent her an amused smile. "Where are the kids, Bones?"

"What? Oh, the children are in Christine's room."

"Then stop looking at me like that. We can't start what your eyes are suggesting right now."

Easing toward him, she ran a hand down his now bare chest. "Do you forgive me for agreeing to go?"

Capturing her hand in his, Booth brought it to his lips and kissed her fingertips. "You can make it up to me later, Bones."


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: I was stuck on this story for some time, until my muse reappeared and decided it wanted to add something unexpected to it. I have gave up on trying to regain control and have decided to follow along and see where we end up._

 _Please feel free to stop reading if you are no longer interested. I won't be upset, I promise._

Meanwhile, at Booth's former school…

When the scream rang out from down the hall, Susanne Moore didn't even turn her head from the computer screen. There were still some stragglers in the hallway on this last morning of school, and she was sure it wouldn't be the only unusual noise she heard. Seniors excited over graduation and the general mayhem the end of the year brought with it were guaranteed to cause some disruptions.

It wasn't even the first time she'd heard a scream in her work environment, it was a school after all, and teenage girls were always screaming over something. The latest movie, a new boy, after a while it all became background noise. One scream was nothing to panic over.

Susanne had been teaching at the school longer than she cared to think about, but she still had several years to go before she could retire. Her mind had been drifting to the afternoon retirement luncheon and the rumor that Temperance Brennan would be attending. With her husband of course, who apparently was one of Tina Abernathy's former students. Happy for Tina, and also happy for herself, Susanne already had a copy of Brennan's latest book in her desk in hopes the author would take the time to sign in for her.

Tina had been a fixture at the school for as long as Susanne had worked there. One of those employees who'd taken their first job and never left. Susanne gave her a lot of credit for that. The school had definitely declined during the last decade, this part of the city becoming a bit tougher for both the students and the parents who attempted to make a life here. The young teachers came, got a few years experience under their belts, and found better jobs in the suburbs. It was the rare ones who made it more than five years now.

Still, it wasn't a bad place to be, with a lot of good students and great teachers. There were bad apples in every bunch, both student and adult wise and Susanne had long ago learned to accept the good with the bad. Those that wanted to make it, or make a difference, would. Tina Abernathy was one of the great ones, and it was good to see that her efforts had paid off for at least one of her former students.

The second scream, and then a third, had her turning in her chair toward the door. Now, it might be time to pay attention, but not panic. Not yet. Across the hall, the math teacher did the same, their eyes meeting across the distance. Sighing, Susanne started to move slowly toward the sounds. If she let other professionals get there first, she wouldn't be forced to deal with the aftermath of whatever was going on outside her classroom.

She wasn't one of those bad teachers, at least she didn't think she was. Feeling tired on this last day of school was her problem. Summer was looming, along with the trainings and relaxation that came with it. Susanne was definitely in need of the relaxation part; this school year had seemed longer than most to her. The last thing Susanne wanted to add to her summer workload was another stack of paperwork or a meeting with the parents of whatever child was involved with what was going on outside that door.

Stepping into the hall, the first thing she noticed was the crowd, immediately followed by the smell. The crowd surprised her; she couldn't believe that many students were still in the building. The smell, unfortunately, wasn't as surprising. At least, not at first. There was always someone spraying an entire bottle of body spray or perfume into the air. There was also the random carton of milk that seemed to be left in a locker and discovered weeks later. That smell was enough to get anyone's attention.

It wasn't long before Susanne registered exactly what she was smelling. And the crowd was no longer the only thing surprising about the morning. This was the smell of death. A smell Susanne recognized from her youth in the country, where the list of animals to kill was as varied at the methods to kill them. This was not a smell one typically associated with a school.

Groaning, Susanne forced her way forward. What ridiculous end of the year prank had some student pulled this time? Most of them were harmless, but a dead animal in a locker seemed a little extreme. The custodial staff would have a difficult time getting the smell out of the halls.

Pushing her way through the crowd of students, the math teacher followed Susanne before the path she created closed behind them. Susanne wracked her brain, trying to remember the name of the new teacher behind her, but the new ones never lasted long and it seemed like a waste of effort to actually learn their names. Three months, that was Susanne's rule. If the new teacher lasted three months, she'd make the effort. But since the end of the year was upon them, Susanne would make the effort if he reappeared in the fall.

Making it to the front of the crowd, she was forced to hold a sleeved arm over her mouth and nose. Not that it made much difference. The smell permeated everything in the hall, and Susanne vaguely registered the sound of gagging students. Great, the smell of vomit and the smell of death. Could this day get any better?

Susanne regretted the statement when she saw what was causing the commotion. Another teacher, Anthony Sanderson, had made it through the crowd from the opposite direction. They made eye contact, and in unison moved their eyes to the floor.

Red paint, that was the first thing she thought. Until her brain assimilated the smell and the red fluid, and Susanne realized she was looking at a puddle of blood. Slowly, her eyes traveled to the right, along the floor and up the bank of lockers that lined the hall. Only one stood open, and Susanne braced herself for what she knew she was going to see.

"Be an animal," she muttered. "Please be an animal." Suddenly, a dead animal seemed like the best scenario, instead of the worst.

It was the shoes she noticed first, The color was wrong, but they still looked familiar somehow. Pants, also the wrong color. It took her stunned mind a moment to realize the blood soaked into the cloth had changed the color of the material. A suit coat that matched the pants at the base of it. Splotches in other spots remained dry, displaying the correct color of the suit.

And a head she would see forever in her nightmares.

It had been warm over the weekend, over the past several weeks, and the heat of the building certainly hadn't helped the situation. By the looks of things, the body had been there the entire weekend. She felt pretty sure of that based on what she read in Temperance Brennan's books.

That, and the fact that school had been in session on Friday. The halls had been full of students and teachers, finishing up for the term. There was no way that body had been there longer than that.

She took the sleeve from her mouth and shouted to Anthony. "Call the office, have them put the school in lockdown. Or tell the students who are still here to go home for the summer. And tell them to call the cops."

He nodded, a look of relief crossing his face, before he scurried back toward his room. Figured, Susanne thought cynically. He'd just been waiting for someone else to take charge. Choosing to ignore the fact she'd been trying to do the same thing only moments before, Susanne turned away from the grisly site. Considering her options, she didn't try to clear the halls. These kids weren't going anywhere until someone forced them to and it wasn't going to be her.

Still, she stood with her back to the locker, arms crossed over her chest, attempting to block the view. Susanne wondered how many videos and photos would be published on the various Internet sites in the next ten minutes. This story was guaranteed to go viral before the retirement luncheon.

An eternity later, or maybe it was only five minutes, the general announcement came and students began to clear the halls. It took longer than it should have, but soon, nothing but quiet, Susanne, and the dead body remained.

Many minutes later, she sat at her desk and wiggled the mouse until the screen to her computer came to life. This was definitely going to put a damper on the retirement luncheon, was her first thought. Until she took a moment to consider it. Someone in the school had been murdered and a famous author and her equally talented FBI husband were probably on their way to the school right now for the afternoon.

If Brennan had heard herself referred to as an author, rather than a forensic anthropologist, she might have insisted that Booth turn the SUV around. Thankfully, she knew nothing of the teacher's thoughts.

As the students cleared, Susanne made no attempt to go back into the hallway to talk to other teachers about what was taking place. One look was all it would take for them to figure it out. Besides, she didn't plan on being the only one who saw that smashed face in her nightmares.

Instead, she took the time to write her request for paid medical leave. She had no intention of recovering from the trauma she'd just witnessed until the day she was eligible to retire.


	7. Chapter 7

"There's a significant number of police vehicles in the parking lot," Brennan noted as Booth pulled in. "I count at least six." Her voice was concerned, wondering what the two of them had just driven into.

"This school wasn't dangerous when I was here," Booth commented, as he put the SUV in park. "I can't believe it's changed that much since I left."

"Do you think we should stay?" Brennan asked. She would never admit to any sort of premonitions, but she had a sudden feeling that the two of them should just turn around and head back to Washington.

Booth stared out the windshield without speaking. This many cars in one location certainly indicated that something was wrong. Yet, he didn't feel, or sense panic around the building, and no one was running around the exterior. The two people he did see appeared to be composed and calm.

He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, the only indication that something was going on under his calm exterior. "I think there's been some sort of crime here. Which means," he said with a sigh, "this is going to go one of two ways."

"Whoever is in charge will think you are trying to take over their crime scene and be angry," Brennan said.

Booth nodded. "Or they'll be thrilled we're here and expect us to do all of the work."

Brennan's brow furrowed. "There is no chance a crime in a school can be made an FBI case."

He turned his head toward her. "Did you just use an absolute? You know if the local PD wants us to take this case, they'll find a way. Someone will have a brother whose cousin is related to the director, or something like that."

Her hand on the seatbelt, she waited for him to indicate what they were going to do.

The silence stretched for several minutes until he finally opened his door and looked back at her. "You know I can't walk away."

Nodding, she exited and came around the vehicle toward him.

"But thank you for letting me think I could," he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

They walked side by side toward the building, each making their own observations as they went. Several officers nodded at them, recognizing the couple as something more than just concerned parents.

The secretary recognized Brennan as soon as she entered the office. "Dr. Brennan," she gushed, coming around the desk with a wide smile on her face. "We are so excited to have you here."

Fighting the urge take a step back, Brennan held out her hand. "It's nice to meet you, but it's really my husband you should be waiting for. We are here for him after all."

The greeting did nothing to dampen her enthusiasm. "Of course," she agreed. "My name is Cindy. And we are happy to have your husband here, too." Cindy turned and looked around her before turning back toward them. "I know the chief has been waiting for the two of you."

Booth sent a glance toward his wife. "Why is that?" he managed to ask.

"Well, it's just been a terrible morning here, with the dead body in the locker. It's so unfortunate," Cindy said in a voice that was supposed to be a whisper.

Brennan sighed. A body in a locker was more than likely a murder. "And the chief wants Booth's opinion?" she asked hopefully.

Wide-eyed, Cindy shook her head. "He's hoping the two of you will take over the case. You are so good at your job after all. But listen to me, talking on like this. Let me escort you upstairs. I'm sure you'd rather see the crime scene than stand here with me."

OoOoOo

Brennan pulled her hair back into a ponytail and bent toward the body, careful to avoid the puddle of blood. Behind her, Booth stood talking.

"I'm sure you can handle this case, Chief Gonzalez. There shouldn't be any need for Dr. Brennan and I to take this over. We are only here for the luncheon."

Turning her head slightly, Brennan caught Gonzalez shaking his head. The move caused hair to fall toward his face and he pushed it back impatiently. "I probably could handle it, but I don't have the resources you and your wife do. I've already put a call in and the director said you two could work this."

Booth fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Your cousin related to the director?" he asked, just barely managing to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

The smile that appeared on Gonzalez's face was grim. "Something like that."

Turning his eyes toward his wife, Booth waited for her to agree or disagree. If she didn't want to do this, he'd call the director himself.

A shrug was her only response, just as he expected. Like him, there was no way Bones would walk away from this.

"Fine," Booth snapped. "We'll work it for you. But that means no interference when we try to take evidence back to the Jeffersonian."

Gonzalez was already walking away. "Whatever you need. Just call me when you arrest a suspect."

Watching him go, Booth no longer had to fight the look of disgust that appeared on his own face. "He'll probably try to take credit for the whole thing," he grumbled. "Guess we called that one."

"Called what one?" Brennan asked, looking up.

"It's a phrase," he said, reaching into his pocket for his notecards and a pen. "It just means we knew what was going to happen."

"Of course we did," she said, turning her focus back to the body. "We are brilliant."

Pleased at her use of the word we, Booth tried to focus on the task in front of him. So much for a quiet lunch and making a former teacher happy.

"A school?" he asked with a grimace. "Who hides a body in a locker?"

"Schools can be very dangerous places, Booth. In some places, it is more dangerous to be in school that it is to be outside of it." She studied the body for a moment. "I believe this victim is male. Between the ages of fifty and sixty. There's still a lot of flesh here. I won't be able to tell you much more until the bones are cleaned."

Booth made a note and indicated the body with his pen. "How did they manage to stuff him into the locker?"

Brennan stepped back. "It looks like whoever did this probably didn't have too much trouble getting him in there. He seems like he was a very small man."

A woman standing next to the yellow crime scene tape cleared her throat. Booth had watched her approach out of the corner of his eye, wondering what she would offer them. The students were long gone and only members of the staff remained.

"It's Jamie Stanton," she offered. At least in the faculty room, she'd be able to claim she'd identified the body.

Flipping to a new card, Booth readied his pen. "And you are?"

"Why is the FBI interested in a dead body in a locker?" she asked instead.

Brennan turned and looked over her shoulder at the woman. "How do you know he's FBI?"

She shrugged. "When you work in a school, you better learn to read people fast or you're going to be eaten alive. Besides, he's pretty easy to identify in that suit. And Chief Gonzalez left so fast, he was practically running."

Booth glanced back and forth between the two women, embarrassed at being read so easily. "You still haven't given me your name."

The woman blinked. "Oh, sorry. Laura Jones. My classroom is at the other end of the hall. I teach science."

Brennan brightened. "Is that how you knew who it was? You saw the bone structure in the skull and recognized the face?"

Laura just looked at her. Finally she turned her attention back to Booth. "She's not FBI, is she?"

Booth rubbed his hand over his face. "Just tell me how you knew who it was."

"The suit," Laura said. "Even with all the blood and the other gunk, I recognized that ugly suit."

"You can't be much of a scientist if you refer to bodily fluids as gunk," Brennan said.

"Never said I was a scientist," Laura said. She wasn't offended by what Brennan had said to her. She'd heard worse from the students in her class. And she'd thought worse about herself the last couple of months. "I said I taught science. Trust me, around here being an expert in a subject is not a requirement to teach it."

Brennan tilted her head. "Then why are you here? You are supposed to be molding young minds. You are working with the future of America."

"There are days I sincerely hope this is not the future of America," Laura admitted. Other days, Laura thought she was making a difference. But seeing a dead colleague in a locker made a person wonder exactly what was going on in the world.

"You are a horrible teacher," Brennan said in her typically blunt fashion. How could a woman teaching science refer to anything as gunk?

Booth cringed on the inside, but waited to see how Ms. Jones would react. Sometimes his wife's blunt nature revealed more about a subject that his careful questioning.

Laura smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Perhaps, but right now, my job is a heck of a lot easier than yours."

Frustrated with the whole conversation, Booth shoved his cards back in his pocket. Laura had barely reacted at all, which told him almost nothing. "Why is that?"

"Because there are five hundred people in this high school between students and staff. And every single one of them is a suspect."

"Even you?" Booth asked.

Laura started to walk back toward her room. "I'd be disappointed if I wasn't."


	8. Chapter 8

The doors were smaller. That was his first thought. At some point, the school had redesigned the entries to the classrooms and the doors were smaller.

Booth didn't realize exactly how much he'd changed until he stood in the door of the art classroom, staring into his past.

It wasn't just that he'd grown physically. He'd changed in other ways as well. He wasn't sure even he would be able to identify most of the ways.

It was a past he tried to forget most days, until moments like this brought it back to the front of his mind. But if changing any of it, or erasing parts of it, meant he wouldn't meet Bones, wouldn't get a chance to fall in love with her, well, that was a scenario he didn't want to contemplate.

His past had brought him to his present, to his genius of a wife and his three beautiful children. Sometimes, those facts made it a little easier to live with what he'd been forced to endure as a child.

Just like the woman standing across the room had seen past everything he'd endured and pushed him toward his future.

Mrs. Abernathy stood with her back to the door, packing a few items into an open box. Several more were stacked in the center of the floor, and Booth knew he'd be volunteering to carry those out for her before he left.

The room was similar to what he remembered, just a lot emptier than the spring he'd been forced to clean it to pass her class. There had been more items in that classroom than he'd thought possible and Booth was sure some of his muscles were developed scrubbing paint off the floor. Mrs. Abernathy had kept her word, and some of the extra supplies had gone home with him. Between Pops and his teacher, he'd almost drowned in them. It was one of the most glorious summers of his young life.

Wondering what she'd done with all of the supplies no longer stored in the classroom, Booth knocked on the doorframe, hoping he wouldn't startle her.

Bones remained at the crime scene, organizing her techs in the removal of the locker to send back to the Jeffersonian. She'd encouraged him to go find Mrs. Abernathy, afraid they would no longer be able to stay for the luncheon.

Booth had hesitated, and not just at the thought of leaving her alone. He worried his former teacher wouldn't recognize him, or that the reunion would be awkward and uncomfortable. What do you say to a person you hadn't seen in twenty years or more?

She turned and Booth was seventeen years old again, standing awkwardly in her door with a bag of clay in his hand. To chase away the feeling, he shoved his hands into his pockets, fiddling with the items he always carried there.

Mrs. Abernathy put a hand to her chest, before moving it up toward her face and covering her mouth. Her eyes widened and for a moment, he was sure they would fill with tears. He watched her blink hard before she lowered her hand and simply looked at him.

Booth waited, a little embarrassed at her reaction. He fought the urge to scuff his feet nervously on the floor. What was it about teachers than managed to turn adults into uncomfortable teenagers again?

Then she laughed, delight clear in her voice. "Seeley Booth," she exclaimed, laughing in disbelief again. "What is a busy FBI agent like yourself standing in the doorway of your old art teacher's empty classroom?"

Knowing he was welcome, that his fear of not being remembered had turned out to be ridiculous, Booth stepped further into the classroom. "I was invited to your retirement luncheon."

She put her hands on her hips, an amused smile crossing her face. The lines around her eyes were deeper, but that smile and her voice, were exactly as Booth remembered them. "I don't think that's entirely true, is it?"

The investigator in him read between her words. "You knew I was coming?"

Beckoning him forward, Mrs. Abernathy managed to find two adult sized chairs for them to sit in. "Nothing is truly secret in a school. I let people think I didn't know because it made them happy to think they were surprising me. Even if it was hard to not say anything knowing I was going to get a chance to see and talk to the adult version of the student I remembered."

Booth's eyes danced. "I think your power to read people was wasted in an art classroom. You could have done my job," he teased.

Her own eyes glittered with pride. "I was where I belonged," she said. Her voice was confident in the career choice she'd made. "But enough about me. Tell me about you."

Shrugging, Booth downplayed the last several decades of his life. "Joined the Army, the FBI, met the love of my life, had three children. Just going about the business of living."

She sat back, content to let him speak. She'd followed his career in the newspaper, along with that of his wife. The cases they solved made the news, as did the various interviews for Temperance Brennan's latest novels. He'd made the world a better, safer place by doing more than just living.

Her former student had flourished, had found a way in a world that could be capricious and cruel. The knowledge that she had even a little bit to do with it filled her with satisfaction.

But as much as she wanted to tell him that, she'd keep it to herself. It would embarrass him, and that was something she didn't want to do.

So she held her tongue and let him talk. Silence had served her well over the years, allowing her to watch and learn things about the people and students she worked with. Booth wasn't totally wrong in his assessment of her ability to read people.

The silence lengthened, but not uncomfortably, before Booth rubbed an open palm on his knee and continued. "I owe you a thank you," he said. "I probably owe you a lot of them. I graduated because of you. And those art projects you saved all of these years. My daughter, Christine, loves them."

She waved a hand in front of her. "The art projects were nothing. I knew that someday, you would appreciate what they represented. As for graduating, you did that. You could have refused my offer that day. I only cleared a path for you. You chose to walk it. Quiet successfully it appears," she said. Mrs. Abernathy's eyes traveled down his frame and back again, allowing the image of the man to take the place of the boy she remembered. "Your reputation precedes you. How long did it take for Gonzalez to dump the case in your lap?"

Booth could't hide the grimace. "About five minutes. Maybe less. You know about the murder?"

She laughed. "If they couldn't keep a surprise guest a secret, how long do you think news about a murder took to travel the building?"

A serious look appeared on her face, but there was something still dancing in her eyes Booth couldn't identify. "Am I a suspect?"

He wanted to say no, but couldn't lie to the woman in front of him. "Should you be?" he asked instead.

It was then that he identified the emotions she was hiding: a strange mixture of interest and excitement. "I'm an old woman now, Seeley Booth, and long past the age I would actively plan a murder."

The comment made Booth wondered if at some point, she'd actually planned one.

She settled her hands in her lap, drawing his attention back, and waited for his eyes to meet hers. "Still, I'm not past the age when a little excitement is something I'd walk away from. And while I'm not the murderer, I could certainly help you with the investigation," she offered as she got to her feet.

Also standing, Booth looked at her curiously. "How could you help?"

Mrs. Abernathy pointed to the clock on the wall. "The luncheon starts in less than an hour. You and your beautiful wife will sit with me. She'll sign some books and I'll tell you all sorts of interesting things I know about the people who work in this building."

"I already met Laura Jones," Booth offered. He had to admit, her plan wasn't a bad one. If would be helpful to have someone who could fill him in on the employees. And no one would suspect, as Booth had come to spend the afternoon with her.

"Science teacher, " Mrs. Abernathy supplied. "Married, with two children. I have heard that there is trouble in the house and the younger boy is a handful."

"Bones wasn't impressed with her."

"Bones, huh?" Mrs. Abernathy repeated. "I like it. Good nickname for your wife."

Booth blanched. "I shouldn't have said that. Don't say it to her."

"So Dr. Brennan wasn't impressed with Laura," Mrs. Abernathy said, amused as the color started to come back in Booth's face. Another secret she'd tuck away to pull out and examine later. "She is actually a fairly good teacher. The rest is just an act she puts on to keep people from getting too close."

"Hiding something?" Booth wondered.

Shaking her head, Mrs. Abernathy led him into the hall. "Embarrassed about her marriage and child, I think. Not saying she couldn't murder someone, I just think she's got her hands full with other issues right now."

"I stand by what I said earlier," Booth said, walking down the hall next to her. "Your true talents were wasted in this art room."

"Women are full of all sorts of secrets and talents, Seeley. I would think you would already know that." Her voice took on the teacher tone he recognized from his past.

Considering the woman he'd married, Booth was forced to concede she was probably right.


	9. Chapter 9

She led him toward a different stairway than the one he'd taken to her room. "If we go this way, we won't go past the office," Mrs. Abernathy explained.

"Avoiding someone?" he asked, knowing what her response would be.

An amused expression appeared on her face. "I take it you met Cindy when you came in?"

Booth nodded, matching his pace to hers as she climbed the stairs. His former teacher was certainly not the older woman he'd pictured. She might be retiring, but it wasn't because she no longer had the physical stamina to do her job. She climbed those stairs faster than some of his agents.

"Cindy means well," she said. "But if she worked for the government, she wouldn't get very far. She'd never meet the security clearance requirements."

"She can't keep a secret?"

Mrs. Abernathy snorted. "If you only had an idea of what a gross understatement that was. A secretary sees everything, teacher observations, angry letters from parents, anything that comes through the office. There are quite a few of us that think she copies the best stuff and keeps it in a file at home."

He raised an eyebrow. "Blackmail?"

A laugh was not the reaction he expected. "Cindy isn't bright enough for that. She likes her gossip. The copies help her keep everything straight. She's always careful not to say anything straight out, only hints at things and lets others draw their own conclusions. She needs to copies to figure out what she's going to say and to who."

Booth considered what he just heard. "Those copies could make someone very angry," he suggested.

Slowing her steps, the woman next to him considered the idea. "Cindy murdering someone?" she asked aloud. After a moment, she shrugged. "We are all capable, I think, given the right circumstances. I guess you'll need to find more evidence though, to be sure."

Shaking his head, Booth considered the woman walking next to him. "Why did you become an art teacher?" he asked suddenly. Given what he'd noticed the last several minutes, he figured his former teacher would have been excellent at psychiatry or any other field that required her to quickly read and understand those around her.

Mrs. Abernathy smiled at the question. "I was, or am," she corrected, "good at art. I wanted to work with kids. The two seemed to go hand in hand. And it was a career acceptable for a woman. That factor isn't as true now as it was then. I think my parents would have had a heart attack if I said I wanted to be a police officer."

"You don't strike me as the type of woman who ever did what she was told."

"I didn't want to disappoint my parents anymore than you wanted to disappoint your grandfather. Not that a different career choice would have disappointed them. All they wanted was for me to be happy. And I don't regret the choices I made."

Booth understood. And he was thankful she'd made those choices, because it had helped him get to where he was at that moment.

Together, the two adults rounded the corner to see Brennan standing in the center of the hall. She was looking away from them as the techs took the section of lockers toward an elevator.

"Bones," he called out and was relieved when she turned and graced him with a smile. Things had apparently gone well for her while he was downstairs.

"This is Mrs. Abernathy," he said, indicating the woman next to him. "We're going to sit with her at the luncheon and listen to her describe some of the people who work at this school. Seems like a good place to start to get a little information on anyone who could be a suspect."

Brennan's eyes clouded and Booth knew she was thinking about the body that was already on the way to her lab. And perhaps her disgust with the teacher she had already met.

"It won't take more than an hour or two," his former teacher promised. "I know that it can be hard to be away from something you really want to work on."

"It's nice to meet you," Brennan said, ignoring the comment. If Booth thought they should stay for lunch, they would stay. At least for a little while.

"These lockers are old," Mrs. Abernathy said, looking past the scientist to the empty hole in the wall. "The newer ones are only half this size." She wasn't surprised by the greeting, or lack of a greeting, Dr. Brennan had given her. The interviews on television made it clear to Mrs. Abernathy that Brennan found social interactions awkward. To be honest, Mrs. Abernathy was happy to simply have her acknowledge her at all.

Nodding, Brennan turned to look in the same direction. "The body would not have fit in a smaller locker. Not without significant damage to the bones."

"Bones," Booth groaned. "We don't need to hear this."

"It's fine, Seeley," Mrs. Abernathy argued. "I would like to hear this. It's very interesting. So," she said, turning back to Dr. Brennan, "the killer would have known these larger lockers are still here. It's the only hall left in the building with this style. They are due to be replaced this summer."

Brennan's eyes warmed, pleased to finally meet an adult that appeared to be intelligent enough to actually be a teacher. "While the victim is small, I agree with your assessment. It would have been extremely difficult to hide a body in a space smaller than this one."

Standing off to the side, Booth wondered when he'd become invisible. The two women, despite being years apart in age, appeared to have just formed some sort of connection that had nothing to do with him. Instead, he took the opportunity to observe them, similar to the way Bones studied the remains that ended up in her lab.

Why he was surprised by their connection, he didn't know. Bones was an amazing women, but most of the time people didn't make the effort to see past her awkward exterior. His former teacher, who read people like books, saw clear to the heart of her in mere seconds.

Looking toward him, Brennan shot him a curious glance, wondering why he wasn't participating in the conversation. The teacher seemed like a nice woman, but Brennan hoped that he hadn't eliminated Mrs. Abernathy as a suspect, just because she was his former teacher.

Catching the glance, Booth gave her a reassuring nod. He would discount nothing, not without the evidence to prove it.

But the thought of his former teacher being the killer, after everything she'd done for him, made his stomach ache.

"We have a tentative identification," Booth offered, stepping forward. "I'm going to assume from your earlier comment that it probably is already general knowledge."

"Jamie Stanton," Mrs. Abernathy said, confirming Booth's suspicion. "That man is, or was small. I'm surprised he would want to work in a high school."

"About 157 centimeters," Brennan said.

Booth rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to ask Bones for the American version when his former teacher's voice stopped him.

"Five foot two, correct?" she asked.

"Exactly," Brennan agreed, shooting a look at her husband. He always accused her of talking in a language no one else understood, but this woman clearly did. Her opinion of the soon to be retired teacher went up several more notches. "Why are you surprised he worked in a school?"

"Most of the students must have towered over him," Booth offered. "And his suit was definitely something most teenagers would find amusing. I could see him getting bullied by his own students."

"Assistant principal gave him a little more respect. But not much." Mrs. Abernathy's face turned serious. "There was an incident a week ago where a senior who wasn't going to graduate threatened him. Jamie didn't make a big deal out of it, but several larger teachers had to escort the student from the building."

Booth pulled the cards from his pocket. "Do you know the student's name?"

Sighing, Mrs. Abernathy nodded slowly. "I try to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, but there is something about this one that puts me on edge. I wasn't surprised she wasn't going to graduate."

"She?" Brennan asked.

"I know. You wouldn't expect that, would you? But it's in the eyes."

"What's in the eyes?" Brennan asked.

"It's more what wasn't there," Mrs. Abernathy corrected. "There was a lack of emotion, or feeling in her eyes. Her name is Gina Thorn," she said, turning her attention back to Booth. "I'm sure the office has her address and maybe even a phone number. If it wasn't her this time, it will be some other time, I'm afraid."

Noting the name, Booth shoved the cards back into the pocket of his coat. "I think you better lead the way to the cafeteria. You don't want to be late to your own luncheon."

"Of course I do," she said with a laugh. But she turned and began to walk down the hall. "I'm about to walk in with a handsome secret agent and an author famous in both scientific and literary circles. The only way to make this entrance any better is to make it late so everyone sees me as I come in."

Booth managed, just barely, to ignore the comment about his looks. His wife, however, looked ridiculously pleased at her description. They made eye contact and both waited until the teacher was several steps ahead of them before falling into step next to each other.

"I like her," Brennan whispered to Booth.

"I just hope she's not the murderer," Booth said, reaching over to take his wife's hand.

Mrs. Abernathy shot an affectionate look over her shoulder. "I'm not. But I certainly enjoy the thought that you think I could be."

"Most people don't want to be a suspect," Booth said to her.

"I'm not most people," Mrs. Abernathy said. With a smile, she turned around. "Come on. I think our timing will be just about perfect."


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: I feel bad that there has been such a long time between posts, so here's a second one to make up for it. They won't all come this fast._

 _As usual, I don't own Bones._

Mrs. Abernathy had been right about their entrance. The cafeteria was already full of people as they walked through the doors. Several people looked up, but the conversations did not die away as Booth expected. If anything, the noise in the cafeteria went up several decibels.

"Is this the entrance she expected?" Brennan asked Booth. "The way she made it sound, I thought there might be cheering or something."

But Booth was looking around the room, studying the people around him. He spotted the secretary, Cindy, moving from table to table. Wondering what gossip she was spreading, Booth watched her for a moment. If what his former teacher had said was true, it was possible she was gathering information as well. This would be a perfect opportunity to add to whatever secrets she was keeping.

Across the room was Laura Jones. She sat alone, arms crossed over her chest. Her body language made it very clear she wanted no one to join her. Booth would love to ask her why she even bothered coming.

Despite the fact there was a table clearly designated for Mrs. Abernathy, she led them to one in the middle of the room where several people already sat. The woman's face visibly brightened at their approach.

The same could not be said for Brennan's, however. It was clear from her quick perusal of the room that most of the adults there had at least one of her novels sitting in front of them. One man had a stack so high, only his cleanly shaved head was visible above them. If there had been a line, she might have mistaken the whole affair for one of her books signings.

"Booth," she whispered, pulling at his arm. "How many books are you going to expect me to sign?" Her voice was desperate.

Looking around, Booth understood his wife's concern. The number of books there would mean his wife would be signing her name for several hours after the luncheon ended. "Give me a second." Before they reached the table, Booth stopped Mrs. Abernathy. "I need a favor," he said, bending down to say something to her quietly.

She quickly nodded her agreement to whatever Booth suggested. "Let me introduce you to the table and I'll take care of it," she promised.

"Tina," the woman at the table said as she rose to give her a hug. "I had no idea you knew such famous people. You've been holding out on us all these years."

"Cindy doesn't know everything," Mrs. Abernathy said tartly. "Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan, this is Abby Johnson. She teaches math. And the gentleman next to her is her husband, Gabe. He teaches English."

"Dr. Brennan. Agent Booth," Abby greeted with a broad smile. "I'm so glad you could join us for Tina's retirement luncheon. I just wish it was under better circumstances," she said. "It's terrible how Mr. Stanton was killed like that."

With a brief wave, Mrs. Abernathy disappeared to take care of the task Booth had given her.

"Like how?" Brennan asked as she took a seat."We haven't established cause of death yet."

Abby's smile faltered slightly under the direct question. She looked to her husband who was more absorbed in his phone than his wife's conversation. "I heard his head was crushed like a melon."

"A melon is not the best representation of the human skull," Brennan said. A sharp squeeze to her leg stopped the next sentence before she could begin it.

"Where did you hear that information?" Booth asked. He was glad the squeeze had been enough to quiet Bones. He had no desire to know what the best representation of the human head was.

"From Laura," Abby said. She shot another glance at her husband, but he had yet to look up from his phone. "Laura told me after she saw the two of you at the lockers. I didn't tell anyone except Gabe," she quickly reassured them.

Booth had a feeling she was feeling guilty about telling at least ten other people after hearing the gossip herself.

"Did you like Mr. Stanton?" Brennan asked.

Abby shrugged. "He was the boss. But Laura? She seemed almost giddy when she was talking about what Jamie looked like in that locker." Brennan fought the urge to roll her eyes when Abby gave a shudder.

"Don't exaggerate, Abby," Mrs. Abernathy reprimanded as she returned to the table. She gave a nod to Booth to let him know everything was taken care of. "Laura's never gotten giddy over anything in her life."

"How about you, Gabe?" Booth asked, putting extra emphasis on the name in an attempt to get his attention. The man had yet to look up from the screen.

"What about me?" he asked, finally setting his phone down.

"How did you feel about Mr. Stanton?"

"I couldn't stand the guy," he admitted bluntly. "I should be right at the top of the suspect list."

"Gabe," Abby hissed. "You shouldn't say things like that!"

"Why?" he snapped at his wife. "It's the truth. The man tried to overcompensate for his height by micromanaging everything that went on here." His face was quickly turning as red as his hair.

With a pat on her husband's arm, Abby gave the rest of the table an apologetic look. "Gabe's last evaluation wasn't that great," she explained softly. "There was a chance he was going to be moved to the middle school next year."

"If he's that bad, shouldn't he just be fired?" Brennan asked.

Mrs. Abernathy snorted back a laugh. She wondered what it would take to get Dr. Brennan to come to the next faculty meeting. Blunt comments like that would certainly make it more interesting.

Abby was saved from coming up to a reply to that question by the sound of someone tapping on a microphone.

"Welcome to the retirement luncheon," a deep voice greeted them.

"Mac Carter," Mrs. Abernathy whispered to Booth. "Got back from an education conference this morning. Flew out last Wednesday. Should be easy enough to check, but he's probably not your guy."

Booth nodded, relieved to have at least one person he'd met that day crossed off the list.

"As you know," Mac continued, "we only have one retiree this year, our art teacher, Tina Abernathy."

Mac was forced to pause as applause filled the room.

"Per her request, there will be no speeches or awards. At least for the moment. She would prefer all of the good stuff just be said to her at some point, and if it isn't good, she doesn't want to hear it." Several people in the room laughed. "She did, however, just make one request, and I feel it is an excellent idea.

"I see that a significant number of you have heard that Tina has two special guests with her today. Special Agent Seeley Booth of the FBI, a former student of Tina's, and his wife Dr. Temperance Brennan have joined us for lunch today. And based on the number of books I see, most of you were aware of that information."

Brennan shot Booth an annoyed look that he answered with a reassuring smile.

"Dr. Brennan has agreed to sign books for five people. In order to choose those people, Tina has suggested a random drawing. I'll put a bowl up on the table Tina was supposed to sit at, and if you want a chance to get your books signed, write your name on a slip of paper. We will draw the winners at the end of lunch."

There were several groans at the news, but no one argued. Brennan mouthed a thank you to both Booth and Mrs. Abernathy.

"Now, lunch is ready. Let Tina go first, then lets eat and get ready for several days of training." With a click, the microphone was turned off and set aside, allowing Mac to pretend he didn't hear the boos echoing throughout the room.

"He didn't say anything about Mr. Stanton," Brennan pointed out as their table stood to move toward the food.

"I'm glad," Booth admitted. "This investigation is going to be difficult enough as it is with everyone talking to everyone else."

"Just arrest me now," Gabe demanded. "Everyone thinks I probably did it anyway. They all know I hated the guy."

Her look horrified, Abby again tried to quiet her husband. "Stop saying that, Gabe!" Pulling him to the side, the pair began what looked like a heated discussion over in the corner. After a moment, they rejoined the line, Gabe continuing to mutter under his breath while filling a plate with food.

"Is he normally like this?" Booth asked Mrs. Abernathy quietly. The man seemed like he was one breath away from coming unhinged.

She shook her head. "I've never seen him like this. He's quick to react on the best of days, but this is extreme. But I doubt he did it. He's hated Stanton for months. I doubt he would have waited this long to kill him."

Considering her words, Booth watched Gabe for a moment before turning away. The man wasn't the first person to get a little strange when a murder happened nearby. Without more evidence, there wasn't much he could do for the moment.

"We need to get back to the lab," Brennan said quietly to Booth. "The sooner I can get to work on time and cause of death, the sooner we can figure out who the killer is."

"It's not our angry English teacher," Booth said.

"He certainly is making it sound like it is," Brennan argued. She'd been afraid there would be little for her to eat at this lunch, but she was pleased to see several choices that looked good. "He seems like he's angry enough."

"It's not him," Booth said again. "He's being ridiculous. Like a spoiled child who isn't getting what he wants."

"What does he hope to gain by claiming he's guilty?" Brennan asked curiously.

Booth scooped salad on to his plate. "That is something I plan on figuring out."


	11. Chapter 11

Booth swiped his way on the forensic platform and glanced at the body on the stainless steel table. "Wow. There is nothing left of that guy's face. And is that suit purple?"

Lunch that afternoon had continued uneventfully. Brennan had signed books at the conclusion, including the man whose stack covered his face. Luckily for him, and not for Brennan, his was one of the five names pulled.

And despite Mrs. Abernathy's demands, there had been one speech in her honor, given by the principal. Booth promised to return, probably in a couple of days, to interview several of the teachers. In the meantime, they were trapped in trainings, something Booth was grateful for.

There was also the knowledge Brennan would find some evidence. She always did. Without it, Booth felt like he was taking wild shots in the dark,

Mrs. Abernathy had been everything he'd expected, and more. She'd spent the afternoon regaling them with stories from her classroom, and several about Booth he'd forgotten over the years.

She was a lovely woman. Booth was pleased his wife had persuaded him to spend the afternoon. The murder had been an unwelcome, but not surprising addition to the day. It seemed to be something that just followed the two of the them around. At the very least, it gave him an excuse to go back to the school at least one more time.

He'd spent a portion of the luncheon watching the two other members of their table. Abby and Gabe had proven to be an interesting couple. Except, at least to him, they'd never appeared as if they were anything more than casual acquaintances. Gabe spent most of the afternoon staring at the screen of his phone, even during the lone speech. His wife spent the same amount of time trying to silence his random comments about being the murderer, something Booth found bizarre.

Most people, suspects or otherwise, did everything in their power to get themselves off the suspect list. Gabe seemed to be doing everything in his power to be placed in spot number one.

It made Booth wonder exactly what the man was trying to hide.

Brennan glanced up from the deformed skull. "I agree. The skull is in several pieces. I have to reconstruct it after the bones are cleaned." She was also pleased the lunch with Mrs. Abernathy had gone well. "And, yes," she added, "the suit is purple."

Despite his misgivings, Booth had enjoyed meeting with his old teacher. He had avoided any talk of the case on their way back, focusing on his conversation with Mrs. Abernathy instead. It was apparent the woman continued to make an impression on him, despite the fact they hadn't seen each other in years.

Angela's camera clicked as she documented the body. "He was definitely short, too. You think a guy like this would want to escape school, not spend the rest of this life there. And that suit. What was the man thinking when he purchased it?" Where the blood hadn't soaked in and changed the color, the suit reminded Angela of the purple in her son's box of eight crayons.

Her camera clicked several more times before she looked back at Booth. "You look like you were the football star, Booth." Angela teased. "This guy remind you of any of your victims?"

Brennan wrinkled her brow. "Booth didn't murder anyone, Angela. He doesn't have any victims."

But he had killed a lot of people over the years. Still, it meant a lot of him that his wife never saw it the way he feared others might.

"I meant that he probably teased someone who looked just like this while he was in high school," Angela explained.

"Oh," Brennan said. She didn't need any further clarification. A child who moved a lot and was a genius was often the victim in high school. Add in foster care and her difficulty to relate to others and her high school years had been a nightmare. The only thing that had saved her was being smart enough to graduate early.

Booth noticed the look that crossed her face and despite the location, he reached out a hand and squeezed her shoulder. She smiled, but didn't pick her head up from her examination of the body.

He'd been to her class reunion and observed the way the others reacted to her presence. It had been an awkward time for the two of them anyway, and watching how others treated her had made him ache in ways he'd no longer felt comfortable exploring at the time.

At least now he had to chance to show her just what a wonderful person she was. The others in high school had been idiots.

A sharp look from Booth had Angela quickly changing the subject. "The face is really mangled," she said. Snapping another picture she shook her head. "I'm glad that you have an identification."

Approaching from behind them, Hodgins held a specimen jar of bugs. "These little beauties put the time of death last Friday. Somewhere between three and six in the evening." He held them up proudly for everyone to see.

Booth shook his head. He'd never understand the fascination the man had with bugs that lived on dead things. "You're friends let you narrow it down that much?"

Hodgins looked offended. "These guys are…" he began before trailing off. Booth was giving him one of those looks. "Yes, I can tell that much from my friends."

"Probably why no one noticed the body until blood and bodily fluids began to leak from the locker. I wonder why anyone would be in school that late." Brennan stood and walked toward Booth. "I can't give you anything more until we get the bones cleaned off. There's no apparent cause of death."

"His head being mushed didn't kill him?" Booth asked in disbelief.

"Those wounds could be post-mortem. Again, I can't tell until I get the bones cleaned."

"I might already have cause of death for you," Cam said as she also entered the platform. It was getting crowded enough that Booth took a step back, giving more room for the squints to do their work.

"That was quick," Angela noted.

"There are several puncture wounds in the neck. Two of them pierced the artery," Cam explained. With a click of several buttons, the first wound appeared on the screen behind them. "This wound, here," she said pointing toward the area, "is small. Probably not enough to cause death. The second, however, is much different."

Booth grimaced behind them. "That is an ugly cut."

"I agree. It's about three inches long and cut the artery wide open. It's probably why the suit is so soaked in blood."

"This much blood had to make a mess," Brennan noted. "It would have taken a long time to clean up."

"You find a crime scene and the place will probably light up like a Christmas tree."

"I'll start working on a weapon," Angela said.

"Weapons," Brennan directed. "These wounds make it appear that two different objects were used to stab the victim."

"Did you find anything in the locker?" Brennan asked as Angela moved away from them.

Hodgins snorted. "It might be quicker to talk about what I didn't find. The lockers are old and filled with just about anything you can imagine. Say nothing about a high school student, who was in love with perfume, apparently used it for this entire school year. I could still smell it, even over the stench of blood."

"Anything that might be useful to the case?" Booth asked.

"Well, there were books and materials still inside that had yet to be cleaned for summer. Several wads of gum I could test for DNA once you bring in a suspect. Rust, the usual sorts of things you'd find in an old locker."

"Any names on the books?" Booth asked.

"One," Hodgins said. "Gina was etched into the cover of a textbook."

Booth nodded and made a note of it. "I'll call my office and have someone track down Gina Thorn," he said to Brennan. "She'd probably be a good place to start. And I'll call our lovely and nosy secretary Cindy. Mrs. Abernathy thought the office would have contact information."

Nodding, Brennan stripped the gloves from her hands. "I'll come back when the bones are cleaned," she said to Cam.

As Brennan headed toward her office, Booth reached out a hand to stop her. She looked at him curiously. "Is something wrong, Booth."

"What Angela said back there," he began.

Still confused, Brennan shook her head. "Angela said a lot of things back there. I can't imagine why you'd be upset about any of them."

"Not about the case. About picking on people in high school."

"Oh," she said softly. "It's okay, Booth," she reassured him. "Lots of kids get picked on in high school. I turned out just fine. I had the one friend. You met him at the reunion, remember?"

"You turned out better than fine," he said with a smile. Booth didn't want to spend a moment thinking about the creepy janitor Bones had considered her friend. "I just wanted to say that if we'd known each other back then, I would have left you alone. I wasn't like that, at least not with the girls." High school had been all right for him. By then he'd been living with Pops and his life was better. For her, it would have been pure torture.

But maybe, he wouldn't have left her alone. Maybe he would have seen those beautiful blue eyes and fallen in too deep to escape.

What would their lives have been like, if they'd met each other as teenagers?

"You were the alpha male. I was the smart kid in the back. I don't think you would have known I even existed," Brennan said.

He brushed a strand of hair off her face to have an excuse to touch her. Not that he needed one. But it was the lab and they tried to always maintain their professionalism. Her skin was smooth under his fingers, and he fought the urge to bend down and kiss her. "Trust me, Bones, I would have noticed you."


	12. Chapter 12

Afternoon was turning into early evening when Booth reappeared in Brennan's office. "I have the file on Gina Thorn. The school faxed over her records."

Brenna leaned forward in her chair. "I'm sure Cindy loved being able to help you out."

Booth grimaced and sat on her couch. "I avoided her and called the principal. Gave me time to get more specifics on that conference he went to and ask him about our victim."

Joining him on the couch, Brennan took the file from him and flipped in open. On top, was a picture of a girl on the cusp of being a woman. It was just hard to see it under the heavy make-up she was wearing. "She didn't smile for her yearbook picture," Brennan noted, flipping past the photo to the paper beneath.

Sighing, Booth settled back deeper into the couch. It had already been a long day, and it didn't look like it would end for several more hours. "I think she is an angry child," Booth said quietly. "Most of the faxed forms are behavior referrals. Swearing in class, verbal fights with other girls. She was suspended as much as she was in school."

"This last referral is for attacking another student with a knife," Brennan noted, pulling a sheet of paper free.

"Does Angela have a murder weapon yet?"

Shaking her head, she leaned back into the couch next to Booth. "The initial wound is small and round, almost like a needle. The second wound is long and jagged. The second was cause of death. It tore open the artery."

"What about his head?"

"Smashed with something after death. Cam has cleaned the bones and I have begun the reconstruction. It's too early to try and determine the weapon used to cause that level of damage."

"It wasn't slammed in the locker?" Booth asked. He adjusted his tie in front of him. "Smashing the head indicates some level of anger."

"No. There was no blood evidence on the locker and no particulate evidence from the locker on the skull. Both the murder and the later damage were caused somewhere else. The locker was just a convenient place to hide the body."

The conversation died away and they sat comfortably next to each other until Booth's phone rang. He stood and walked away from her to take the call. Brennan listened to the sound of his voice, but not the words, allowing the familiarity to sooth her tired mind. After a short time, he hung up and returned to stand in front of her.

"Come on," he said, holding out his hand. "They found Gina and are bringing her in for questioning. Maybe we'll have this case wrapped up before we leave."

Using his hand to leverage herself to her feet, Brennan held back a smile. "I'll believe that when it happens," she said, grabbing her coat.

Following her out of the office, he secured the door behind him. "Me, too."

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

Gina was sitting sullenly at the table when the partners arrived. Walking in, Booth studied her, drawing initial impressions. He wore a look similar to his wife's when she studied her bones. Same skills, different medium.

Black hair, dark eyes, pierced lip and an I don't care attitude were clear. But was she tough enough to kill a man?

That was what Booth was going to have to determine.

Whatever was going on in her life, the tough girl routine served her well, but Booth had little doubt she could lose the attitude if the circumstance required her to. Or if it no longer served a purpose. Gina, he had a feeling, only did things that gave her some advantage.

He reflected back on his conversation with Mrs. Abernathy and looked a little deeper. She was right about the eyes. There was something missing there. But Booth wasn't sure it was murder she was hiding.

Under the intense scrutiny, Gina licked her lips, an outward sign of nervousness Booth picked up on immediately. That was followed by tapping of her fingers on the table. "Why am I here?" she finally demanded.

"Well, we could start with the marijuana my agents found on you."

Gina shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time. Wasn't a whole lot there anyway."

"Most girls claim it belongs to their boyfriend."

"I have to have one for that lie to last more than an hour. Besides, I doubt the FBI is interested in a puny little drug bust."

"Well, you'd be correct about that. What we are interested in, is this." From a folder, Booth retrieved a photograph and placed it on the table in front of her. "Recognize this guy?"

Her face whitened, but Gina swallowed and looked at the picture. "Should I?" she asked, attempting to maintain her facade. The photo was one Angela had taken of the victim's face, which was barely recognizable as human.

"You had a rather heated argument with him last week," Brennan prompted.

Recognition dawned in Gina's eyes and the mask fell firmly back into place. "Mr. Stanton? No way. Someone finally killed the…jerk," she finished as she caught a look from Booth. "Where'd you find him?"

"In your locker," Booth said. "Right on top of the textbooks you left behind."

"I'm not paying for the books," Gina said.

Booth raised an eyebrow. "Most people would be more concerned about the dead body found on top of the books." With a finger, he moved the picture closer to Gina. "Are you sure you didn't do this to him?"

Pushing her chair back, Gina crossed her arms over her chest. A second later, her legs were stretched out in front of her and one ankle was crossed over the other. The position made it easier for her to avoid looking at the picture. "I didn't kill him. So why should I worry about it?" Her eyes went everywhere, except toward the two people separated from her by a cold metal table.

"Because he was found in your locker," Brennan reminded her. "That would make you the prime suspect."

Rolling her eyes, Gina snorted. "That's all you have? A body in my locker? I haven't been back to school since stupid Stanton kicked me out. Besides, I never locked that thing. Didn't figure anyone would take the science textbook."

"What'd Mr. Stanton kick you out for?" Booth asked.

"Fighting," Gina answered proudly. Then her shoulders slumped slightly. But her voice was still hard when she continued. "It meant I couldn't take my last final, so I failed the class and didn't graduate. That was Thursday. I haven't been back to school since."

"Where's the knife?" Brennan interjected. "The one mentioned in your behavioral referral?"

"My knife?" she echoed. "It's in the bag your suits took from me." Licking her lips again, she directed her attention toward the mirror in the room. For a moment, the mask disappeared and Booth saw the scared young woman beneath. But it was so fleeting, he wondered if he'd imagined the whole thing.

"I didn't plan on graduating anyway," she admitted suddenly. "I was getting out of here and he just made it happen a little faster. My aunt said I could come live with her in Florida so that's probably where I'm going." Shrugging her shoulders at the turn her life had taken, Gina faced the partners. "You can have the knife and whatever else you need from me. I didn't kill him, even though I wanted to."

"Where were you Friday night?" Booth asked. He felt sorry for her. His former teacher was probably right about this young woman. Someday, she would make a choice that would cost her or someone else dearly.

Toying with a bracelet tied snugly around her wrist, Gina considered the question. "I went to the movies with my loser of a mother. The new one with fast cars. She insisted on going because she thought it might keep me from making an extra stop later."

A subtle shake of his head stopped Brennan from asking about the extra stop. Booth knew what Gina was referring to, even if she didn't.

"Didn't matter. I just went back out after we got home. I stole some money from her purse after she fell asleep."

"What time was the movie?" Booth asked.

"We left before six and had dinner. Didn't get home until late. My mother drove around after the movie to try and have some bonding time with me," Gina explained, her voice annoyed at the thought of her mother actually trying to care about what she did.

"Do you think your mother will back up your story?" Booth asked. His voice made it clear he doubted she would.

Gina huffed out an angry breath. "No, she won't bother. She's tired of bailing me out of trouble. But I have the ticket in my wallet, which is also in my bag. I didn't have time for whatever you are accusing me of. You can take my wallet when you grab the knife. The sooner you check it out, the sooner I can get my bus ticket."

Booth retrieved the photo and file from the table, motioning at Bones that it was time to go. They were at the door when Brennan turned. "It's not too late, you know. You can still graduate."

Gina refused to look up. "Sure, I can go back in the fall when I'm in Florida and make up that last class."

But from the tone of her voice, it was clear to all three of them that it would never happen.

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"What was the extra stop?" Brennan asked when they were outside the interrogation room.

"To buy alcohol or drugs," Booth replied. He slapped the folder in his hand considering what he'd just seen and heard. "I'm guessing drugs, based on the marijuana we found on her. Do you think she was much taller than the victim?" Booth asked, starting to walk toward his office.

With a tilt of her head, Brennan considered the girl she'd just seen. She fell into step beside Booth before responding. "Maybe two inches at the most. I'd guess she was about thirty pounds lighter, though."

A hand rested in the small of her back as Booth allowed Brennan to walk into his office first. "Think she could kill him, get the body in her locker, and clean up the mess all by herself?"

"No," Brennan said. "I don't think she could have done it alone. But I'd still be interested in the knife."

Booth nodded. "I'll have it sent over. But I have a feeling her alibi will check out. I think we can cross her off the list, but I'll check everything, just to be sure." He glanced at the clock on his wall. "It's been a long day and I'm starving."

"Let's go get some dinner," Brennan said. "Then I'll come back and finish with the skull and you can pick up the kids. I shouldn't need more than an hour or two."

This time, she held out her hand to him, and he took it gratefully. "Sounds like a date," he said with a tired smile.

"We really need to work on your idea of a date," Brennan teased, pulling him out of the office.


	13. Chapter 13

"Any ideas on the murder weapon yet?" Brennan asked Angela the next morning.

The artist shook her head. "The weapons database I have came up empty. I have a couple more things I'm going to try. Maybe by this afternoon. I can tell you it wasn't the knife Booth sent over."

Brennan attempted to give her a reassuring smile. "I'm sure you'll find it, Angela. You just might have to work a little harder."

Angela bit her cheek to keep from laughing at Brennan's poor attempt to make her feel better. "We have another issue. Did Booth come in with you this morning?"

"I'm here," he announced, quickly entering the room with a cup of coffee in his hand. "This stuff is so much better than what's at my office." He took a sip and hummed appreciatively. "So what's the problem?"

"I did some digging on the principal, Mac, who was supposedly at the conference out of town."

"Supposedly?" Brennan asked.

"Well, he was there. At least for a little while," Angela explained. Using the pad in her hand, she pulled up surveillance video. "The hotel he stayed at just happened to have a camera directly above the sign in table. With a little enhancement, you can see him clearly signing in next to his name on the first two days."

"That's not a problem," Booth argued.

"It is on the third day," Angela explained. This time the video clearly showed someone signing in next to the name Mac Carter. Unfortunately, it definitely wasn't the Mac Carter they were familiar with.

"Who's that?" Brennan asked.

Shrugging, Angela enhanced the face. "I'm not sure. But this was Friday. Mac didn't sign in again until the final speaker Sunday morning, right before the conference ended."

"So he doesn't have an alibi from Friday morning until Sunday morning?" Booth asked.

"Maybe he does," Angela said. "But it certainly isn't the conference."

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Booth managed to steal a quick kiss from his wife before he left the Jeffersonian. "I'm going to double check Gina Thorn's alibi and then we should probably bring in the principal for questioning."

"I'll keep working on the skeleton. Maybe we can figure out what the weapon was before you bring him in."

Brennan waited until he'd disappeared out the door before she swiped her way back on to the platform.

"Good morning, Mr. Bray," she greeted her intern.

Wendell looked up from the bone he'd been examining. "Dr. Brennan. Sorry I couldn't be here yesterday."

"No apology necessary," she said. With precise movements she removed gloves from the closest box and pulled them over her hands. "Now, tell me what you've discovered."

"All of the damage to the skull appears to have been done post-mortem," he began.

"I'm aware of that, Mr. Bray. Do you have any new information for me?"

A year or two ago, Wendell would have been so nervous at her tone, he barely would have been able to form a complete thought. Now, he was able to recognize her intense focus on what she was working on and keep moving. "Actually, Dr. B., I do. I found an anomaly on the jawbone."

With careful but sure hands, Wendell picked up the section of bone he was referring to. "Do you see this indentation, just below the mandibular notch?"

With hands that were just as sure, Brennan moved the bone so she could look at it under magnification. "Yes, I see it, Mr. Bray. There appears to be slight staining around the anomaly, indicating it occurred peri-mortem. It's a wound."

Looking up, she gave Wendell a nod. "This is excellent work, Mr. Bray. Continue to examine the bones and let me know of any other findings."

Smiling at her praise, Wendell looked down. "Sure thing, Dr. B."

Stripping the gloves from her hands, Brennan headed back to Angela's office. "There's an anomaly on the bone of the jaw."

"I'll use Wendell's scan to input the injury." Several seconds later, the screen was filled with an image of the victim's skull, the new injury visible.

"So now he has two wounds to his neck and one to his jaw?" Angela asked. "And none of the wounds look similar."

Frustrated with the mystery in front of her, Brennan narrowed her eyes at the screen. "The staining around the wound at the jaw indicates it occurred at or near time of death. And we know the jagged wound to the artery was cause of death."

"I can rerun the weapon database," Angela offered, "using the new information. Maybe it will change our results."

"Bring up the scans of the smaller wound in the neck please," Brennan said. "The wound is round, like a needle," she said after they appeared.

"Yes," Angela agreed, "but when I ran a stabbing scenario using a needle, no size corresponded to the size of the wound. And it doesn't explain the jaw or the jagged cut."

"What if," Brennan thought out loud, "the needle was stabbed a second time and dragged down the neck?"

With a few clicks, Angela was able to input the new scenario. "That would be possible, but we still can't find a needle the correct size. Do you have any other ideas on a weapon?"

Brennan shook her head. "No, but I will have Hodgins examine the new damage for particulates. Maybe he'll find something."

"Bones!" Booth shouted suddenly appearing behind them. "Are you free?"

Looking at Angela, she nodded her head. "I've done all I can for now."

"Good," he said. He motioned her toward him. "Mac Carter just arrived at my office. Let's see what his story is."

BBBBBBBBBBBB

"I need you to explain this to me," Booth said to the principal. Mac sat in a chair in Booth's office. Booth leaned against the corner of his desk while Brennan stood nearby, arms crossed over her chest.

Mac took the picture Booth was holding in his hand. He stared at it for a long moment, his eyes clouding over, before he leaned back in the chair and sighed. "I had a feeling this would come out after Stanton was found in the locker." Shaking his head, he handed the picture back. "Even dead, that guy is a pain in my ass."

"So you admit you didn't go the conference every day?" Booth asked.

Rubbing a hand over his face, the man nodded. "But you won't find any evidence I left the state, or the hotel for that matter."

"We're supposed to believe you stayed in your hotel room for several days straight?" Brennan asked.

Turning to look at her and then at Booth, Mac sighed heavily again. "Yes, I stayed in the room for several days straight." Looking down, he twisted the wedding band on his finger before looking up again. "Is there any way this information will stay just in this room?"

"Were you having an affair with someone at the school?" Booth asked. Brennan looked at him, realizing he'd come to the correct conclusion. As usual.

"Laura Jones," Mac said quietly.

"The science teacher? She's married as well, isn't she?" Brennan asked.

Leaning forward, Mac rested his elbows on his knees before sitting back up again. "We're both married."

"Didn't she have to work last week?" Booth asked.

"Yeah. That's why I didn't have someone else sign me in until later in the week. She took a couple of personal days. We spent a couple of days in the hotel together and then she left. I left after the conference finished."

Booth slapped the picture against his leg. "So I take it you didn't care for Stanton?"

"What the man didn't have in height, he made up for in other ways. He was miserable to work with and made those around him miserable on a daily basis. He tried to manage everything, students and faculty alike." Mac shook his head. "He was so busy threatening to move teachers, he never noticed he was on the list to be moved as well."

"Stanton was going to be moved?" Booth asked curiously.

Mac shrugged. "That's what I'd heard, but I never put a lot of faith in that sort of thing. Listen," he said, "is the other thing going to stay quiet?"

Making eye contact over his head, Brennan shrugged. If his alibi checked out, there was a good chance no one else would find out exactly what was going on at that conference.

"I can't make any promises," Booth said. "You might want to come clean to your wife before she finds out some other way."

Mac's entire body appeared to go boneless before he squared his shoulders. "You're probably right about that. Not that it will matter. She'll pack her suitcase and be gone either way."

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

"Please tell me you have something Hodgins," Brennan said when she returned to the lab. Aware that her voice sounded almost desperate, she took several deep breaths to calm herself. There was evidence here. They simply had to find it.

"I swabbed the wound as you asked," he replied, turning his wheelchair toward her. "I'm waiting for the results." He studied the woman standing in front of him. "Tough case?" he asked.

"No tougher than usual," she answered. "The murder weapon is proving to be more difficult than usual. I just have a feeling that if we figure that out, the whole case will fall into place."

"Going on faith this time, Dr. B.?" he teased.

She shot him an annoyed glance. "No. Past experience."

With an amused smirk, he whirled away from her when the computer sounded behind him. "Looks like we found something," he announced excitedly, until he looked at the results. "Incense cedar? There were wood particulates in the wound and they're from a tree that grows in the Sierra Nevada Mountains?" Deflated, Hodgins stared at the screen. "I'll run the results again. Maybe something else will show up."

But Brennan wasn't as quick to discount the information. "What is incense cedar typically used for?"

"What?" Hodgins muttered. "Oh, it's commonly used for pencils. Like there's not a thousand of those in a school. Maybe if I…" his voice trailed away as he returned his focus to the computer.

Which meant he missed the look that crossed Brennan's face. "I think I know what the weapon was," she announced running from the room.

Hodgins was so involved with the testing, he didn't even hear her leave.


	14. Chapter 14

Brennan burst into Booth's office and slammed an item down on his desk.

"What's this, Bones?" he asked, picking up the tool to twirl it in his hands. "I don't need one of these. We use computers to draw the circles on maps now."

"You might," she said, "but high schools still use them frequently." Her eyes sparkled with excitement at finally solving the mystery. "However, this time it was used for something other than its intended purpose."

"This," Booth said, pinching it between two fingers and holding it between them, "is the murder weapon?" The sun glinted off the metal compass as he held it in front of him.

"I don't make mistakes, Booth. I had Angela run several scenarios before I came to see you."

Disbelief was clear on Booth's face. "This little thing is what killed our victim?"

Brennan took it back from him, opening it wide and gripping it in a closed fist. "The first strike caused the smaller of the two wounds. One to the neck and one to the jaw. That is why Hodgins found particulates from a pencil in the bone. And why neither wound was that serious. The second strike was also in the neck, but the assailant put more force behind the strike and continued to drag the point down the neck. In doing so, the artery was cut, causing our victim to bleed out. A needle most likely would have broken in that scenario, but this tool would have stayed in one piece."

"What are the chances of there being DNA trapped in one of these?" He would never look at school supplies the same way again.

She smiled. "Probably pretty good if we manage to find the right compass. I'm guessing our killer didn't take the time to clean it that well considering the mess the body was in. If we can find where it's or all of the compasses are stored, we might have a lead."

"One of our lunch companions is a math teacher," he reminded her.

"I know that. I figured it would be a good place to start when we return to school tomorrow."

"You know what, Bones," he said, jumping to his feet. Reaching behind him, he grabbed his coat and shrugged it over his shoulders. "Why wait? Let's get a warrant for the tool and I'll send an agent out there to get them. In the meantime, we'll have Abby Johnson brought in. I think we need to have a little chat with her."

BBBBBBBBBB

"So, Abby," Booth said, sliding into a chair across from her. Brennan had returned to the Jeffersonian to look for additional evidence to assist him. "Tell me about your relationship with Jamie Stanton."

"Did you have to bring me here?" Abby asked, glancing around the room. "You could have talked to me at the school."

"You're a suspect, Abby," Booth said. "Your husband freely admits he should be a suspect. Maybe he's covering for you."

Abby looked down at the tissue she was shredding. She hadn't stopped crying since the officers had appeared at the school. "I didn't kill Jamie Stanton. And neither did my husband," she argued, but her voice lacked conviction.

"Your husband was going to be moved. You wouldn't be working in the same building. I'm guessing that made you unhappy. When was the last time you saw the victim?"

Sniffing, Booth watched Abby weigh her options and knew the exact moment she decided to be honest. "At 3:30. The day he was murdered."

"So you saw him the afternoon he was murdered? Within hours of his death?"

She nodded, but didn't speak again.

"Where did you see him?" Booth finally asked. It was apparent she was going to be honest, but wasn't going to offer anything unless directly asked.

"In my room," she admitted with a whisper.

"Were you in there alone?"

She shook her head. "Gabe was waiting for me to pack up so we could go home for the weekend."

Booth leaned forward. Now he was getting somewhere. "You and Gabe were with Mr. Stanton right before he was murdered. What did you discuss?"

A long pause followed, before Abby answered with a shrug. "I didn't discuss anything with him. I grabbed my bag, glared at him and walked out the door."

"And Gabe?" Booth asked.

"I thought," Abby began, before a fresh round of crying forced her to pause. "I thought Gabe was right behind me, but he didn't come out for quite a long time."

Narrowing his gaze, Booth studied her. "You didn't go back in to look for him?"

"I didn't," she cried. "I just waited in the car for him. Gabe had been so moody lately. I didn't want to do anything to make him angry right before the weekend started, so I just waited outside for him."

Convenient, thought Booth, not sure if he believed her or not.

"When Gabe finally came out to the car, he was shaking. I asked him what was wrong, but he wouldn't talk to me. We drove home and he stayed in the basement all weekend."

"And you never went back in the school to find him?" Booth asked again.

"No, but I wish I would have," she admitted. "Now I find myself wondering if I'm living with a murderer. If I'd gone back in, at least I'd know one way or the other."

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

"So Abby admitted to being with the victim near the time of death?" Brennan asked. They were in Booth's SUV, headed back to the school. With a lead on both a weapon and a possible crime scene Booth had a feeling the case was just about solved.

"Yeah, both her and her husband. Officers are bringing him to interrogation. He'll be there when we get back."

"Do you think Abby's room is the crime scene? It is near the locker where the body was found." Mentally, Brennan catalogued the supplies in the back of the SUV, making sure everything she needed was there.

"I do." He glanced at Brennan. "Do you have the little flashlight that makes blood glow?"

"Little flashlight?" she echoed, trying not to smile. "I know you are aware of its proper name."

He shrugged, refusing to confirm or deny her accusation. "I like little flashlight better. It doesn't make me sound like a squint."

She didn't have the heart to tell him he'd been a squint for years. She studied bones, Hodgins bugs and particulates, Cam flesh. They all had their specialties.

Booth studied people. An area that wasn't quantifiable or clearly measurable.

Brennan might tell him someday she thought he was the most talented of all of them.

"What?" he asked suddenly, confused by the look on her face. He'd say she had a secret, but Bones was so bad at keeping them from him.

"Ask me again, someday," she said with a smile. "I might tell you after we retire."

Shaking his head, Booth focused on the road in front of him. Comments he didn't understand were nothing new, so he filed it away to think about another time. "Do you think the murder was committed by one person?" he asked instead. "Or would two have been required?"

Shocked he let the previous topic drop, Brennan refocused on the case. "The victim was small so one person conceivably could have done all of the work with a bit of luck."

"Luck?"

"Yes, Booth. Luck. It would have taken a bit of time to stuff the body in the locker and clean up the blood. The fact that the killer managed it without another teacher or a custodian walking in on them required a little bit of luck."

They rode in silence after that, each lost in thoughts about the case and each other.

"Grab your gear," Booth said as they pulled into the parking lot. There were already two police cars there. "If we've got some of that luck you were talking about, maybe they've located a box full of murder weapons."

Slinging a bag over her shoulder, Brennan ignored the comment. Luck wasn't something she necessarily believed in, even if she did wonder at times how she was lucky enough to end up with Booth and three wonderful children. But she didn't plan on admitting to that one either.

"I have everything I need, Booth," she reassured him.

The classroom was empty when they entered it and Brennan directed him to pull the shades so the room was darker. Turning on her UV light, Brennan quickly scanned the room.

"Christmas tree was right," Booth said with a whistle.

"There is a significant amount of what is probably blood on the floor and the wall of this classroom." Putting down the light, Brennan retrieved a screwdriver and began to remove a metal plate from the wall. "Blood," she pointed out, placing the cover next to her. "We can bag this and take it back to the lab to confirm it's the victim's blood."

"So we have our crime scene."

"Without further testing, I cannot confirm that," Brennan began, "but I would be comfortable saying that is probably correct." Putting her gear back in the bag, Brennan walked slowly around the room, picking up items before putting them down again.

"What are you looking for Bones?"

"A second weapon. Or something that could be used to smash the victim's face in." A stapler was tested and returned to the desk. A similar move was followed with a tape dispenser and a metal pencil holder. "None of these items are heavy enough to do the damage."

"A chair?" Booth suggested. "There are certainly enough of them in the room."

Brennan shook her head. "The weapon was more rounded than a chair leg. And bigger."

While Brennan continued to search the room, Booth walked to the rear of the classroom and opened the door to a closet. "What about a baseball bat?"

"That is certainly plausible," Brennan said without looking at him. "We could check the gym or where they store the sporting equipment."

"I don't think that will be necessary, Bones." When she finally looked up at him, Booth stepped back to give her a clear view of the closet. "Conveniently, one was left right here for us."

She shook her head. "Do you really think someone made it that easy?"

"Job security, Bones. Sloppy murderers are job security."

BBBBBBBBBB

Cindy looked up, glee apparent on her face, when the partners walked into the office. "How's the case going?" she asked.

Booth was surprised she didn't rub her hands together. "It's progressing," he said vaguely. "Is Mr. Carter available?"

If she was disappointed with his response, she hid it well. "He's in his office. Let me take you back."

"That won't be necessary," Booth said, brushing past her. "Come on, Bones."

With a quick glance to make sure she was behind him, Booth led them down the short hall toward the offices.

"You don't like her, do you?" Brennan asked.

Shaking his head, Booth knocked on the closed office door. "I don't trust her. Anything we say will be used in whatever gossip she spreads around the building. Better not to say anything at all."

Without waiting for permission, Booth entered the office, Brennan close behind him.

Ending a call, Mac looked expectantly at both. "What can I do for you?"

"We need a compass. The kind used in math class," Brennan said.

Mac nodded. "I sent several boxes of them back with your officers." Getting up from the desk, Mac closed the door behind them. "Do you have a suspect?" he asked softly.

"We have several," Booth admitted, refusing to be more specific. "You aren't one of them."

Relieved, Mac nodded. "The sooner this is taken care of, the better. Cindy is in her glory, talking about the same information over and over again. I may have to take a leave of absence just to get away from her."

"We are going to be taping off Abby Johnson's classroom and sending technicians into the room," Booth informed him.

"Abby's classroom?" Mac repeated. He rubbed his closed eyes with one hand, the other he moved to brace himself against his desk. "Stanton was killed in Abby's classroom?"

"It appears so," Brennan said. "There is a significant amount of blood remaining in the classroom, despite someone's efforts to clean it."

"At this time of year, the custodians usually only empty the garbages in the rooms. No sense in mopping since all of the rooms will be stripped during the summer and new wax applied. Now that students are gone, they work during the day and quit by three. More than likely, they would have been gone when Stanton was killed." Mac shook his head. "Are you sure about Abby?"  
"We are sure about the blood. We don't have enough proof to say Abby was the killer," Booth said.

Brennan feared Mac would faint if he turned any paler. "How long?" he managed to mutter. "How long until I find out one of my teachers is a killer?"

"Probably not long," Booth responded grimly. "Probably not long at all."

BBBBBBBBBBBB

Three boxes of metal compasses sat on the platform when Brennan returned to the Jeffersonian. "Are these all of them Mr. Bray?" she asked, pulling on another pair of gloves. There were days she wondered why she bothered taking them off at all.

"Yes, Dr. B. I was just getting ready to lay them out on the table for further examination."

"Allow me to assist you. It will go faster with two of us." They worked in a comfortable silence, until three rows of metal tools were ready in front of them.

"UV light, Mr. Bray," she directed.

Slowly he ran the light down the first row, and the second with no results. It wasn't until the final row that one compass began to glow.

"There, Dr. Brennan," Wendell said with a small smile. "The one in the bottom row, third from the left, had a significant amount of evidence on it."

"Good work. Swab for DNA and see what you can find out. Make sure you take it apart and look for areas that weren't wiped down as well. I'll notify Booth that it appears we have the weapon when we are finished here. Now, what can you tell me about the bat?"

Wendell moved to a second table and used his gloved finger to roll the bat. "This was also positive for blood. The shape matches the wounds on the skull. This was most likely used to bash the skull in after the victim was stabbed."

"Please do the same with the bat. You might want to check for fingerprints along with the blood. Either one, the fingerprints or DNA, will lead us to the killer."

BBBBBBBBBB

"You were in the room with Stanton the afternoon he was killed. We found the murder weapon in a box and a baseball bat in your closet. It's only a matter of time before we have the evidence to arrest you."

Gabe Johnson looked up at Booth. "I didn't kill the guy. And why did you have to take the bat? That was supposed to be a gift."

Sighing, Booth pulled out a chair and straddled it. Couldn't Gabe just confess so Booth could wrap up this case and be home in time for dinner. Why did the man feel the need to make him work for it?

"That isn't the tune you were singing at the luncheon. You were practically ready to sign a confession right there."

Looking away, Gabe shook his head. "Yes, I was with him the afternoon he was killed. Yes, we had a rather heated discussion. But I didn't kill him, no matter how much I would have liked to. The man was very much alive when I walked out of that classroom."

"What was your heated discussion about?" Booth asked.

When Gabe's eyes returned to Booth, the exhaustion in them was clear. "Same thing we'd been talking about for weeks. My observation, being moved to another classroom. I'm not a bad teacher, Agent Booth," he explained.

Wondering who he was trying to convince, Booth nodded at the man to continue.

"I always had great observations until Stanton came along. And my test results were still good. Most parents liked me. Stanton chose someone to go after this year and I was the unlucky guy."

"And that's what you discussed Friday night. Your wife said it took you a long time to follow her to the parking lot."

Gabe snorted. "Abby would think ten minutes was a long time. She never did have patience for anything. I told Stanton if he was going to move me to go ahead and try. I'd fight him all summer. He made some other empty threats while I grabbed my bag and brushed past him. But I swear to you, he was very much alive as I walked out the door."

Resting his arms on top of the chair, Booth wondered whether or not to believe the guy. "I need a DNA sample," he said.

"You can have whatever you need," Stanton offered. "Despite what I said in anger at the luncheon, I am not responsible for this mess and neither is my wife. You need to find yourself another suspect."

BBBBBBBBBB

"Do we have another suspect?" Booth asked Brennan when he returned to the Jeffersonian. "Nothing is making sense here. Both Abby and Gabe say they didn't do it and the other two we talked to have alibis."

Grabbing a paper from her desk, Brennan held it out to her partner. "Gabe appears to be telling the truth. We found blood on the compass that didn't match the victim. But it didn't match Gabe or his wife either."

Looking at the paper in his hand, Booth pretended to understand everything that was written there. "Male or female?"

"Female," Brennan said. "Our murderer is female."

"So who was there after hours, had access to all the classrooms, and would have known enough to know where to hide a body?"

The two pondered the question for several moments until, as if someone had snapped their fingers, they looked at each other with a smile.

"I know who did it," they said simultaneously.


	15. Chapter 15

It didn't take long, before the evidence they required was in front of them.

"Cindy," Booth said with a welcoming smile. "Thank you so much for coming in to talk to us today. We are really stuck on this case and were hoping you could provide some information that would help us."

Brennan joined Booth, placing a cup of coffee in front of Cindy before sitting down across from her. They'd discussed how to approach this interrogation before entering the room and both knew their parts.

"I'm so glad to help," Cindy answered. She took a sip of the coffee before placing the cup in front of her and wrapping her hands around it. "What can I help you with?"

It was difficult for Cindy to hide her excitement at gaining inside knowledge of the case. She would know more than anyone in the building and could hold it over their heads as she saw fit.

"What time do you usually leave work days?" Booth opened with.

"Four," Cindy volunteered quickly. "But sometimes I stay later than that to get work done. It's so much easier to accomplish things when there are fewer people in the building."

Remembering Mrs. Abernathy's comment about Cindy copying files, Booth knew exactly what kind of work she was finishing.

"And what time did you leave the night Mr. Stanton was killed?" he asked.

Tilting her head back, Cindy thought back to the previous week. "About five," she finally decided. "I left work, grabbed some dinner, and went home for the evening."

"So you were in the building when our victim was killed?" Brennan asked.

Widening her eyes in shock Booth was sure was fake, Cindy nodded her head slowly. "Yes, it seems like I was. Wow. I hadn't realized that. I might have seen the killer in the building."

It took everything Brennan had not to roll her eyes. "Were you in the office the entire time?" she asked.

"No," Cindy said, lowering her voice. "I was in the hall at one point. I saw Abby Johnson leave and Gabe followed not long after. Neither of them saw me, which was probably a good thing. Gabe might have killed me, too."

"So you think Gabe killed Mr. Stanton?" Booth asked.

Cindy nodded slowly. "Of course, he did." Her voice remained low and Brennan wondered why she felt the need to whisper. "He was the one who had the most motive." Cindy placed a hand on her chest. "Did I see Gabe just after he committed the murder? That's terrible."

So is your acting, thought Booth.

"No one else had motive to kill our victim?" Brennan asked. "Not even you?"

This time, the look of shock was a bit more genuine. "Me?"

"Mr. Stanton didn't catch you copying files in the office the night he was killed? He didn't confront you for it?" Booth asked. They didn't have any proof that's what had happened, until they'd searched Cindy's desk and found the drawer with the false bottom. There were files there with Friday's date, the copies hidden beneath the originals.

The principal had certainly enjoyed watching the technicians take the desk apart.

Cindy stuttered, but didn't come up with a coherent response.

"And then you followed him upstairs," Brennan continued, "and heard him arguing with Gabe in Abby's classroom."

"No, no I didn't," Cindy denied.

"When I asked Mac about the compasses, he told me it was your job to retrieve those items from the classrooms when finals were complete and store them in the supply area. That would have been your excuse, had anyone seen you upstairs that afternoon. But no one did," Booth said.

During the pause, Cindy pressed her lips tightly together, until nothing was visible but a thin line.

Brennan took up the tale. "When Gabe left, you entered Abby's classroom, the box in your hand. You were angry with the man. Angry he'd caught you copying files. So you stabbed him with one of the compasses."

"I left the rest of them in the box in the hall." Her eyes focused on something that wasn't in front of her. "He laughed at me," Cindy said softly. "The first time I stabbed him, he laughed at me." Her eyes lost focus as she thought back to that afternoon. "He told me he knew what I'd been doing. If the truth got out, I was sure to be fired."

Nodding, Brennan continued. "It probably hurt a little, that first wound, but it didn't do much damage. You were much more effective the second time."

"I was tired of him laughing at me. So tired of it. So I put more force behind the second one. I didn't want to lose my job." Cindy looked back and forth between both of them. "This time I got to laugh as he was bleeding on the floor."

"You scratched your hand the second time," Brennan said.

Holding out her hand, Cindy showed them the wound. "It pinched me. I bled on the compass."

"That's how your DNA was found when we took the compass apart at the lab."

"Gabe had a bat in his cupboard, which you also knew about," Booth pointed out.

Long past denying what she'd done, Cindy confirmed Booth's suspicion. "It was a graduation gift to be given out during the ceremony. I had to put it in the program so I knew Gabe was holding on to it until then."

"Why did you destroy his face?" Brennan asked.

"He laughed at me," Cindy said. It made perfect sense to her. "If he didn't have a face, he couldn't laugh at me anymore. Nor could he threaten to take my job away from me." Taking another drink of her coffee, figuring it would be the last she'd get for a long time, Cindy decided to finish the tale. "I saw the referral about Gina and the fight. Figured it was a good place to put the body, since she wouldn't be back and people would suspect her. Then I used my master key to get custodial supplies and clean up after myself."

Booth and Brennan locked eyes before looking back at Cindy.

Taking a last drink, Cindy pushed the cup away. "I don't know why you have to arrest me for this. It's not like anyone will miss the guy anyway."

BBBBBBBBBBBB

"So you caught her," Mrs. Abernathy said. Booth had returned on the last day to help his former teacher load everything into her car. They had come full circle he figured, as he helped her clean out her classroom one last time.

"We caught her," Booth confirmed. "Mr. Stanton treated her very poorly, apparently. When he caught her with the files, Cindy correctly assumed she was going to be fired. Add in the abuse and it was enough to send her over the edge."

Shaking her head, Mrs. Abernathy unlocked her car. "I always tell new people around here that it's not the students you have to worry about, it's the adults. Guess I was right." She cast a look to the side. "Guess I was right all those years ago about you, too."

"You were right," he agreed. Somehow, he managed to shove the last box in the back seat and close the door. "What are you going to do now?"

Her look was wistful. "I've always wanted to see castles."

"Castles?"

Nodding, she managed to get into the driver's seat. Every other inch of her car was filled with boxes and projects she'd refused to leave behind.

Just as she'd refused to leave him behind all of those years ago.

"I'm going to Scotland. To Ireland. To see castles and go on an adventure. In all of my life, I've never been on an adventure. This case, that luncheon with you, was the closest I've ever come. I think it's time to have a real one."

Booth looked across the parking lot to where Brennan waited for him. "I did plenty of adventuring in my time. I like being home now."

Looking past him, Mrs. Abernathy smiled. "You are a very lucky man, Agent Booth, even if I think quite a bit of that luck is due to plain old hard work. I have a feeling every day of your life is an adventure in some form or another. It does my heart good knowing I didn't waste my time on you all of those years ago."

Slapping the top of her car, Booth stepped back. "Have a great adventure, Mrs. Abernathy."

She smiled, and though Booth was sure she would, she didn't look back as she pulled away.

Stepping up beside her husband, Brennan hooked an arm through his. "What's she doing now?"

Looking down with a smile, Booth led her back toward the SUV. "Going to Ireland and Scotland. She wants to see castles, and mermaids, and fairies. Maybe take their picture."

Brennan narrowed her eyes. "She seemed rational enough to know most of those things don't really exist."

With a twinkle in his eyes, Booth disagreed. "Sure they do, Bones. Luck of the Irish and all of that jazz. Maybe she'll see a leprechaun, too."

"Booth," Brennan argued. "There are no such things as leprechauns either and you don't find a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow."

"Have you ever found the end of a rainbow?" he asked.

"Well, no, but the end of a rainbow," she tried to explain.

"Is where the gold is," Booth finished for her. "And since you can't find it, how do you know there's no gold there?"

The bickering pair closed the doors to the SUV and continued their good natured discussion all the way back to DC.

 _A/N: Thank you for reading and for the reviews. Until next time._


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